This Should Be Intriguing
by Monsieur Prongs
Summary: A series of drabbles, or one shots, or whatever you'd like to call them set before or after Sherlock and John first meet. A continuation of 'This Should Be Interesting' but stands alone. Good luck.
1. Tears of a Sociopath

_John_

Something isn't right as I head up the stairs again. Sounds of banging, and of things being thrown. Sherlock. I throw open the door,

"What the _Hell_ is wrong with you?" Sherlock doesn't listen and continues to throw his papers around. His shirt isn't neatly tucked in, his buttons, half unbuttoned. I can't see his face. He tips over the coffee table sending a mug to the floor, shattering it. He throws a box to the floor, kicking it to pieces. I can't do anything, can't stop him. "Sherlock." He reaches for his violin, picking it up by the neck, and swings it at the wall, breaking it into pieces, leaving the handle held to scraps of the body by a couple of strings. "Sherlock." He drops it and stands there, head hung low and breathing heavily, shoulders shaking slightly. "Sherlock?" Something is wrong, something's up. "Sherlock, what's wrong?" He says nothing, just standing there, trembling. I make my way across the room, picking the path that is safer, to reach him. I put a hand on his shoulder, an attempt at comfort, "Sherlock, are you okay?" He collapses to the floor, silently crying. Only now that I'm up closer to him, I can see the tear stained trails leading down his cheeks. His shoulders shake more, silently sobbing. I sit down next to him, he's going to be okay. He has to be. "Sherlock." He leans into my chest, his head over my heart, his tears staining my shirt. This is awkward. "Everything is going to be okay. It's all okay. Everything is fine." I hug him a little, I wonder what's wrong. Something has obviously broken the cold barrier that surrounds his heart. Something's wrong.

"Oh John. What have I done?" He sounds so melancholy, so hopeless,

"I don't know Sherlock. What have you done?" He frowns and softly hits his head against my chest.

"I don't know. John. I don't know. I've sent mother away, far away, and I don't know..." his voice trails off and he hits his head against my chest again, "Can you help me?" Flattered by his asking for help I think of anything I can do. Nothing comes to mind. Sadly I shake my head,

"Sherlock I'm sorry. I've got nothing." He smiles a little bit before wiping his eyes and standing,

"You're home early." He starts to button up his shirt properly and straighten his jacket, feeling better. Wait. How does he know what time I should be home? I didn't even know myself.

"What?"

"You normally would have been back ten minutes from now, and by then everything would be cleaned up. Now you have to help me out." He smiles before righting the table and clearing up the ceramic.

"How do you know I would be back? I didn't even know myself." Sherlock's smile curved up one side of his face,

"Shot in the dark. You don't have much to do so the only place you could go would be Sarah's, ten minute drive from here. Obviously that wasn't where you were headed." I laugh, it was where I was headed, I got distracted by a shop, and then decided against going to Sarah's. So then I came home.

"Actually-"

"No, let me guess, you stopped by a shop and decided that going to Sarah's wasn't worth it and so you came straight home."

"You are amazing."

"How long have you shared a flat with me?" I chuckle,

"Maybe too long. And you never cease to amaze me. Everyday it's something new." He laughs a bit,

"Yeah. I guess it is." I right the chair and pick up the bits of violin when I hear a gasp at the door. Mrs. Hudson, I stand,

"It's not..."

"Sherlock, what have you done?" He looks up before hiding his hands behind his back,

"What?"

"Don't get smart young man. I know this is your fault." I best speak up. Sherlock's had enough trouble to deal with today.

"Bad day Mrs. Hudson. No worries, nothings permanent." She smiles at me,

"Well if you're sure." I smile back,

"Everything's fine here." She smiles again before heading downstairs.

"Thanks John." I nod,

"Anytime Sherlock. It's my pleasure." We're quite for a moment, nothing needs to be said,

"This never happened."

"Of course not. Never happened."


	2. Past and Present

_Sherlock Age:15_

"Sherlock, you have a mess to clean up down here. I rather wish that you would clean up after dissecting something on my kitchen table. Sherlock." Mummy's calling for me. I don't want to answer. I'm on the edge of an important discovery. Music. I crank the classical music up a little louder before laying back on the floor, propping my head up on some dirty laundry. "Sherlock. Don't make me ask again." Another couple of bars, now I can't hear anything but the violin. This is how I think. How I feel. I link my fingers together over my chest and close my eyes. Beautiful. The door's locked. She's going to want to come in, can't let her take it away. The sounds, the music. It's like another language. The door bangs open. Shit. My eyes fly open. Father. He's come home. Sitting up I hightail for the window that leads to the roof. He won't follow me out there. He pulls my stereo out of the wall, as I scramble over my desk, pulling open the window and clambering out onto the roof. Shit shit shit He's home early. Why did he have to come home early? I was wrong, he's following me, oh shit. He pulls his bulky form onto the roof, clawing with his big hands after me. No. No. No. Quickly I head to the point in the roof to scramble down the other side and in the window. His fingers close around my ankle, I hear a pop. No! I grip the crease with my hands, feeling the rough shingles bite into my palms. NO! He yanks me down and I scrape my chin. My fingers try to find something else to hold onto as he pulls me back down. My t-shirt catches on the shingles, leaving my stomach bare and open for more scratching. No no no. I've been hoping he wouldn't come back. Mother's downstairs, she's not going to help.

"Father please! I won't listen to it anymore! I promise! I swear!" He drags me into my room. SHIT! I'm going to die! He's going to kill me! He throws me to the floor and hits me on the side of my face, I don't care, he does it all the time, the bruise on my left side is from yesterday. I shoot to my feet and shoot out the window this time reaching the gutter and leaping onto the car, perfect. Father is shouting out the window, scolding me. Don't pay attention. I walk down the street, hands in my pockets, head hung low, playing the song over and over again in my mind, I bet I can play it. I bet I can. I pull open the front door and head for the living room, time to play.

_221B Baker Street, Present Day_

"I can play by ear." John looks up from the paper,

"Really?"

"Obviously."

"What?"

"Never mind John. Read your paper."

"Sherlock?" He's gone, and out of his room comes classical music, loud and proud. Not what normal people listen to. A fast violin solo, a whole song written for violins, and after twenty minutes he comes out and picks up his violin. After doing a quick set of chords and a small warmup song he plays something beautiful, the same thing John had heard just minutes before. He can play by ear. "You can play by ear." Sherlock says nothing but closes his eyes, swaying with the music, letting it flow through him. The violin knows what it wants, Sherlock is only the tool it uses to unleash the music. He finishes the song and puts it away without looking at John.

"See there? You were wrong."

"What?"

"I can play by ear." John smiles,

"I know," and then out of curiosity, "Does Mycroft play anything?" Sherlock laughs at a memory that question brings up,

"He played the cello."

"Past tense?" Sherlock laughs again,

"It was bigger then he was, and he wanted to play piano."

"He doesn't though?"

"NO! Oh Hell! Of course not! His fingers don't move properly."

"And I assume yours do?"

"Obviously. Much more nimble."

"So you play the piano too?" Another laugh,

"Not well."

"Can you play that by ear too?"

"Of course not!"

"What?"

"Violin is my instrument of choice. Meaning I spend more time with it then with any other instrument you could throw at me. It's much more... Beautiful then everything else. Humbling. Sensitive. It's almost alive I would say. God do I love the violin." He sighs a little bit before finishing packing up the violin. He sits down, "Do you play anything?" John smiles,

"I learned the clarinet at school."

"But you don't play it anymore. Or I would have known. What made you stop playing? Clarinets are beautiful too. Not like the violin, but they work well together I think."

"Wasn't my style. Besides, if you want girls, sports is where you go. Girls like that sort of thing. Let me tell you a story, when I played clarinet I got no girls, but as soon as I started doing sports, girls fawned over me. It's quite amazing actually."

"I wouldn't know."

"Right, not your area. I forgot."

"I know."

"Are you okay?" Sherlock sits back in his chair, lost in thought,

"What? Yes. Obviously."

"What are you thinking about Sherlock. You've gone all... distant."

"A long long time ago when the violin got me into trouble."

"...?"

"It was a long time ago. Don't worry. All I did was get scolded for not clearing up a bit of frog I left on the kitchen table."

"When was this?"

"When I was fifteen. Keep up."

"I guess some people never change."

"What?"

"Nothing Sherlock. Nothing." An awkward silence. Neither knows what to say, so they sit there, and John reads his paper, and Sherlock thinks. He gets his violin out again and plays something new, something he invented. Something for John.

"John."

"What Sherlock."

"Do you like the violin?"

"It's alright I guess. When the right person is playing it."

"Do you like when I play the violin?"

"Yes."

"It helps you sleep."

"WHAT?"

"Sometimes I play it when you have bad dreams, and then you settle down."

"Oh."

"What did you think I meant?"

"Nothing Sherlock."


	3. Misstep

_Sherlock_

"Sherlock?" I am aroused from my thoughts. What the Hell? John? When did he get back?

"Hm?"

"You haven't set foot outside since the ice storm." I look up at John who had entered the flat without my awareness. Odd. How is that even possible?

"Quite right."

"You haven't answered your phone when Lestrade called, you haven't even touched your email."

"Right. You're point?"

"What are you not telling me?" I smile before replying,

"Many things John." He shakes his head,

"No, about the ice." He can never know about the ice, quickly I screw my face into a look of confusion,

"What about the ice?"

"There is something you aren't telling me about the ice." I suck in a lungful of air quickly and quietly,

"That's a story for another time my friend." John just won't leave it alone, how mundane.

"Do you not like the ice?"

"John, I said it doesn't matter."

"Sherlock." He says my name, one word, but in such a way that it's commanding me to tell him about how much I hate ice, how much it scares me. I lean back in my chair and look into the fireplace...

_Sherlock Age: 23_

_I race down the hall way and out the door onto the icy step, losing my footing for one moment and going sprawling across the sheet of ice that covers the driveway and sidewalk, encasing everything. _

"_SHIT!" I cry out as I try to regain my footing, almost in vain. I glance over my shoulder before walking as quickly as I dared down the street, careful of the ice. A shout. I turn only to see Mycroft go flying across the ice. I don't have time to react, he comes straight for me, knocking my legs out from under me. I fall with a loud crack on the ice, hitting my nose and feeling a crunch. Warm blood oozes from my nose and down my face, I can taste it on my lips, see it turning orange on the ice. "SHIT MYCROFT! WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?" I shout as I again try to find my footing on the slick, smooth surface. Furiously I wipe at my nose, there is going to be a bruise tomorrow morning, at least it's not broken. Mycroft falls back against the ice, going limp, his eyes are closed, something is wrong, something isn't right. Blood still flowing from my nose I slide over to him, he doesn't wake when I shake him, he's hit his head. Oh God. There's a bruise, blood. Shit. I pull him onto my lap before checking his pulse, faint, but there. Oh God. Oh God. Someone, anyone, help me! "ANYONE? HELP!" I call out, my voice shaking and rebounding against the houses. I lean over him and start to talk to him, even though I know he can't hear me, "Mycroft, oh God. Mycroft, you have to wake up now. You can't just... No you can't just die right here." I can feel his blood soaking through my pant leg, "Mycroft, oh God. Shit. We're going to get you some help, somewhere. Oh God. This is all my fault, if I hadn't pissed you off you wouldn't have been chasing me out of the house. Oh God. What if you can never forgive me? What if you're going to be different forever. Oh God," I raise my head and call out again, "SOMEONE! COME HELP ME HERE!" Tears are falling down my cheeks, mixing with my blood. I wipe my nose again before succumbing to the noisy sobs that I swore no one would ever witness. "Oh God." I moaned, feeling like if he died right now it would be all my fault, I would have killed the only person who cared about me right now. Mummy would never forgive me. I had worked so hard to put any feeling, any form of caring for anyone, away, in a box, out of sight forever. Now when something like this happens they feel the need to come out and make me look and feel like a fool. I wipe my eyes before sticking my hand in my jacket pocket to get my phone I steady my voice before dialing nine-nine-nine. The ambulance arrives ten minutes later and ask for details that I am unwilling to give. I stand up as they take my brother to the hospital and I go into the house. I pack a couple of bags and leave a note to Mycroft telling him where I've gone. Letting him know how sorry I am for getting him hurt and how I don't feel like it's safe anymore for me to be around him. I leave and start to look for somewhere to live when my phone buzzes,_

_I'm sorry Sherlock._

_MH_

_I sigh, of course, after only a couple hours after I leave he wants me back, typical, _

_I know._

_SH_

_Come home?_

_MH_

_Sorry brother. _

_I can't._

_SH_

_What are you going to do?_

_MH_

_I'll think of something._

_SH_

_I never want to see his face again, thus begins the rivalry of Mycroft and myself. _

I finish the memory and look at John one last time,

"No I don't. I hate it." John smiles like it's a joke,

"You going to tell me that story?"

"No." He looks surprised but understands that it's probably better to let me brood and mope around until the snow and ice melt. Smart man. He goes to his room, leaving me sitting in front of the fire. I think about all the things that have happened since that fateful day, how maybe I should forgive Mycroft, but that means I have to forgive myself first. I can never do that. Never. I'm not wired that way. I sigh and stare into the embers, feeling useless and bored. I get a text message,

I still don't blame you Sherlock.

MH

I know.

SH

* * *

_NOW! For everyone who read 'This Should Be Interesting' Sorry for the repeat. It's not that I don't have anything, it's just that I love this chapter. Sorry for the repeat again. Please forgive me. I just really like this story so... Hope you don't mind reading it again. _

_Now. For all new comers to my world. Welcome, hope you had a wonderful holiday. Mine was brilliant. Now if you guys have anything that you think I should write, a Sherlock peer into the past, or anything like that, let me know. I'm open for options, considering that I have nothing in mind right now. I probably will have something up later today as well though, not a repeat, but something new. Not sure what it is yet. Hopefully I'll be getting Sherlock season one in the post meaning that I should be full of new ideas... Maybe Sherlock should bake something. No... That'd be weird. _

_Thank you everyone for reading and enjoying. Thank you for leaving comments and suggestions. You guys are brilliant. _

_Until Gallifrey is free,_

_Time Lord Victorious_

_P.S. I think I might run out of things to say before forty chapters of this. That would be sad. So if you're new, I suggest going and looking at 'This Should Be Interesting' I think it's just as good, if not better. Possibly better. Thanks again.  
_


	4. Spinning Boredom

_Sherlock Age: 26_

I push off the ground one more time, bringing my legs up to my chest and spinning in the chair again. This is what my life has come too. Spinning around and around in an office chair, thinking of nothing. Being bored. I spin again, staring at my knees, so as not to get dizzy. I'm behind on the rent again, hopefully I won't get evicted. It would be the third time this month. I sigh loudly, letting my frustration out in one long breath. Bored. Bored.

"BORED." I spin some more, this is the most fun you can have when you're bored. Bored. Bored. Bored. There's nothing. I've been detoxed, so I don't have that, I don't live with my brother anymore. My television has been taken away, Mycroft took my violin, my landlady hates me. There isn't anything for me. I don't like people so I can't go out with friends. Bored. The landlady took my gun. Bored. I rest my forehead on my knees as I spin, the bare room flashing past my eyes. "BORED."

"Maybe you wouldn't be so bored if you had listened to me." I leap up,

"HOLY SHIT! MYCROFT I WILL KILL YOU!" He's in my doorway, leaning on his umbrella, it's not raining outside so I don't know why he has it. Loser.

"You should have taken my case." I sigh, leave it to him to come up with some way to make me get out of the flat. His case is bogus, there isn't really a point to me taking it. I mean America? Come on! America is out of country even.

"I don't want to go to America to track down something you've lost. It's your fault, you should go look for it."

"I thought you'd want to see mummy." Mother. No. I haven't seen her in years. I don't want to start now,

"Mycroft, you don't understand the..." I struggle for a word, oh, "coldness between mother and I. I'd rather not see her."

"Right, because you don't like anybody." I smile,

"Correct, for once in your life Mycroft, you read me correctly. I don't like anyone."

"Is this why you got kicked out of the university?" Quick! Defend yourself stupid!

"That wasn't my fault."

"Sure it wasn't Sherlock, I'm sure it wasn't."

"Mycroft. Really. It wasn't my fault. The lab just... Didn't get on well with me."

"And so it just so happened to blow up did it?"

"Yes!"

"Sherlock." His voice is stern, like he's trying to make me feel bad, it really wasn't my fault.

"Mycroft." My tone is mocking. He should feel bad now. I didn't do anything wrong. The dean just didn't like that I knew more then him. I spin the chair again, wishing that when I revolve around to where he is, he'll be gone. No such luck. He reaches out and stops my chair, "OI! I was spinning in my chair!"

"And I was talking to you." I roll my eyes,

"No you weren't. You were scolding me for something that happened a long time ago."

"It wasn't that long ago."

"To me it was. I've left it behind. I don't need any degrees, or anything. Unlike you, I'm fine with hardly any education at all, I have everything I need already in my head. I can make a living for myself without a college degree."

"How far behind are you in your rent?" That stops me. How does he know about that?

"Not to bad actually."

"I'm willing to pay you to go to America and track down the bloody traitor." I roll my eyes again,

"Mycroft, money bribes don't work on me. I'm sure I'll get some money sometime or other, and then I'll be fine."

"Sherlock. You can't rely on just that." I sigh, oh Hell. He's going to give me another bloody lecture, I'm really not wanting any of this right now.

"Yes I can, and don't go into detail of why you think I can't. I've been living like this for years, and nothing you say or do is going to stop that Mycroft. You can't control me. I meant what I said when I left okay. I don't want to see you anymore."

"I know you did. Which is why I come to see you any way. You need someone Sherlock, a friend or something like that. You can't just live alone all the time anymore."

"Yes I can." Why is he doing this to me? He's so mean. Why doesn't he just fall down the stairs now? Please?

"No you can't. And if you aren't going to take the case, I'm going to make you take it."

"I'd like to see you try."

"Are you sure you mean that Sherlock?" I look him over, the serious look in his face, the one that said, I'm through with dealing with a child, either you shape up now or you're going to regret it. Ignore it. Sadly, he's serious, he's going to make me take it. I guess that might be a good thing. I'm so bored.

"Yes I am." Mycroft sighs and hangs his head a moment,

"I wish you hadn't said that."

"I'll expect the money in my bank account by the time I get back." He looks up.

"What?"

"You're going to find some way to make me go, you better give me the money by the time I get back."

"Sherlock, what are you saying?" Oh God do I hate myself right now. Why can't anything be easy?

"You know perfectly well. I know that syringe in your pocket has methohexital in it. I can smell it." Mycroft sighs as I stick my arm out, "There's no way I'm leaving this flat without it so go ahead." He smiles a little bit,

"You are something else. Sometimes I wonder how I'm related to you."

"I know." I feel the pinch of the needle piercing my skin, and feel the liquid going through my veins. I blink a couple of times, my eyelids getting heavy, "Mycroft, if I die, I'm going to kill you." He smiles,

"I know." Then everything goes blank.

_I know I promised this YESTERDAY but I got busy, it being new year and all. Oh well. Here it is today. And most likely you'll have something else by the end of the day. Hopefully. I won't make any promises because I don't know if I'll have the time, I have loads to do today, school starting on Monday and everything. So hopefully you'll have something else by the end of the day._

_Until Gallifrey is free,_

_Time Lord Victorious_


	5. The Idiot's Lantern

_Sherlock Age:19_

I shift in the uncomfortable fake leather chair, looking at the dean in the face as he yells at me. It was my fault that the lab blew up.

"It seems to me like you don't really want to be here Mr. Holmes." I look up, confused,

"What?" Is he implying that I don't value this school, that I don't actually want to be getting a higher education?

"You heard me perfectly. As far as I can tell, the only reason you are here is because your brother payed for you to be here. Him paying your way makes it obligatory for you to come here. We can just as easily make it not so easy for you to be here." Oh I see. It's a threat,

"If this is because of the lab..."

"Mr. Holmes, it is more then just the lab. You have a series of marks on your record, espionage, vandalism, cheating on important exams, selling cheat sheets, aiding and abating an escaped criminal," With that I have to protest, I didn't do that knowingly. Okay, maybe I did, but he wasn't guilty. Sadly the police don't care if he's guilty or not, they just want him back in custody, "you're lucky you aren't in jail. You're almost as bad as the one they call Moriarty. Thankfully he's transferred, but that doesn't mean you won't become just like him. He was a terror the entire year he was here, and you're shaping up to be just like him." I shake my head, I've heard all about this guy, not a pretty picture. I'm determined not to be like him.

"Excuse me sir, but I think that if you give me one more chance, I won't screw it up. I'm pretty sure that I want to be here." The man across the desks scoffs,

"You're joking. Tell me what happened from the top again." I sigh. We've been over_ how_ the lab blew up I even know _why _but he insists on revisiting this one specific time I manage to blow something up.

"Are you serious sir?" He leans forward, of course he's serious, he's the dean.

"Of course Mr. Holmes. I want the whole story." I roll my eyes before beginning,

"Okay. I was up after hours, wanting to finish this experiment about gas." He raises an eyebrow, "It was for science class. Anyway I was busying myself with the gas, setting the stream radius and the force of the flow. Some idiot had left one of the Bunsen burners running. That was the stupidest thing anyone could have done. Waste really. I didn't even see the flame." He looks at me pointedly. "What? How was I supposed to hear it? It was not visible, there was barely a flame. I don't know how it happened sir." He stares at me, I shift again. This is uncomfortable. "Okay I do. Maybe the gas pipe I was using let the gas out too far and then the gas ignited when it hit the burner. Nearly killed me it did. Barely had time to turn the gas off before everything exploded." I show him my hands which are bandaged, due to the good nurses. Luckily they like me enough to give me pain killers.

"It seems to me Mr. Holmes that you have an idiot to thank." Wait. What? What is he talking about?

"What?"

"You're expelled." No. That's not... This can't be happening. It wasn't my fault! And now they are going to kick their best student out the door? What is wrong with the school system? How did this happen to me? I didn't do anything. I sneaked out after hours yes, but that isn't enough to expel me. What they should be doing is finding that idiot who goes to this school and left the burner on. Why does this kind of thing happen to me all the time? I always take the fall unless Mycroft's involved. And then everything is his fault, even if it's mine. Why can't I just do something right? For once?

"Excuse me sir?"

"You. Are. Expelled. I'm not repeating it again. You have till tomorrow's lunch to be packed up and gone." I sit there stunned. This is really happening isn't it? Oh shit.

_A couple nights earlier_

I have to be quite. I should have done this yesterday. But the lab was being used so I guess it wasn't really important. Now it should be empty. There really isn't anything that can go wrong. Simplest form of sneaking out of the dorm is accomplished with socks and a quiet lock pick. Hardly breathing I creep down the hall, making no noise in my socks and pajamas. The door's just a few feet ahead of me, reached easily in a couple of steps. It will only take a minute and no one will ever find out. I might smell a little bit like gas afterward but that doesn't matter. People are so stupid they would never really notice that. I push open the door silently, there is my spot right at the back. Luckily no one has touched it all day, so that's a plus. Everything is in order. I turn my gas pipe's dial, letting more gas flow into the room. Wait. Something isn't right. Wait. There's a light, a little one across the table. A Bunsen burner. Why is it on? Oh SHIT! It's going to blow, quick! Turn the gas off! It's going to burn! Now it's going to explode! I barely have time to remove my hands, and they don't even escape clear. It's hot! It burns! Oh bugger. Not the smartest idea. I hide under the table till the gas burns itself out. There are burn marks on the ceiling and on the floor. Shit. I have to get my hands treated. They burn, so much. I try not to touch anything as I pad down the stairs. I am going to get into trouble. Shit. Why do these things happen to me? What idiot left the burner on?

_The dean's office_

"I understand sir."

"I'm glad Mr. Holmes. I'm just sorry that it had to end like this. You had a lot of potential." I nod, feeling empty and hollow inside. Of course this would happen to me. Of course.


	6. The Things you Find In Elevators

Sherlock Holmes waited impatiently for the elevator to open. He hates these trips, the ones that take him outside the comfort of his flat, but they are necessary to the case. The door dings open and he lets out a large sigh. Three people already occupy the small compartment. He waltzes in and immediately heads for the corner so he wouldn't have to look at anyone else. A teenage girl is scribbling away madly in a notebook, much like his own, only slightly bigger. She pushes her square glasses up her nose before sliding him a smile decorated in braces and then continues to write. She looks up at the ceiling a moment, mouthing something before writing again. A writer then. Most likely a novelist. She looks up and studies Sherlock a moment. She tugs on a strand of her hair, straightened her skinny jeans and fiddled with a ring on her hand before asking,

"Does this sound right to you?"

"What?" Startled Sherlock backs into the corner again. What is she doing? Asking me if something sounds right apparently,

"Does this sound okay? She stares at the sea, quiet and calm, hoping and dreaming the waves will bring back, something she lost on the sea's long ago, something so precious and pure." Sherlock runs the verse over in his mind,

"Yeah. Actually. That sounds... Good." She looks him over a minute,

"Really?"

"Yes. Very... Poetic." She beams,

"Thanks!"

"You're an author then I take it?"

"Is it that obvious? What tipped you off?" Sherlock thinks a moment, funny how you can strike up a conversation with someone in an elevator.

"Do you want the whole story, or about half?"

"The whole if you don't mind." The others in the elevator get off as it comes to a stop, "I'll be on here a while, going all the way to the top. Good experience you know?" Sherlock smiles, this girl is funny,

"Well first of all it was the callus."

"What?"

"You have a callus on the side of your index finger where your pencil or, in this case, pen, rests. You prefer pen. I can tell because you have ink all over your hands. You carry that book with you wherever you go and it's nearly filled suggesting that you are creative. You obviously don't care what people think about you considering that you haven't brushed your hair today, and your clothes are slightly wrinkled. You didn't eat breakfast either. Your stomach is making funny noises. Your nail polish is chipped meaning that you don't really care about it either and that you painted them as a courtesy." The girls jaw has dropped, but she clicked it shut again before motioning him to go on, "You still live with your parents, no surprise there, you can't be more then what? Fifteen? Your hair has been dyed recently, nice colour by the way, the auburn brings out your eyes, and you also had it cut saying that you might care a bit more then you're letting on. You type more then you write on paper, and are prone to sitting in the dark, I can tell that because of your poor eyesight as well as the slightly flattened tips of your fingers. Your nails can't be too long or you wouldn't be able to type, yet they are longer then you feel comfortable with but you can't do anything because you are used to biting them. You do well in school, but don't consider yourself a nerd, not that it's a problem if you did. You watch a lot of telly, don't listen to much music, and are some what of a dork when it comes to Doctor Who and reading. The TARDIS on your key chain suggests that you watch loads of Doctor Who and you probably even," he reaches over and plucks up a key chain around her neck with a key on it, "yes, you have a key on a necklace saying that you want the Doctor to take you somewhere fantastic. You read a lot, your glasses say as much. Your t-shirt says the name of a band that I'm somewhat familiar with, Muse is it? But it also suggests that you don't listen to very much music at all because they aren't mainstream. You don't have many friends or else you would have brought one with you, and you talk to yourself. That says that you are probably an outcast and stand around outside of main society. I would say hipster, but obviously you aren't. Too creative for that kind of thing. You have a cat too."

"Did I really talk to myself?" Sherlock smiles again,

"Yes, but don't worry about it. I do that too. Did I get anything wrong?" She nods, and Sherlock's face falls,

"But I can't blame you for that, I don't have a cat. I used to but mummy took her away from me. That was fairly recent so I'll give you that. That was amazing."

"Really?"

"Of course! It was brilliant!" Sherlock smiles, maybe people could actually appreciate him. The doors ding again,

"This is my stop, it was a pleasure." He holds out his hand, "Sherlock Holmes." She takes his hand and shakes it once,

"Hannah. Pleasure. Mind if I use this?" she gestures to the notebook,

"Not at all." The doors close, blocking her from view. Sherlock smiles again, she was an odd sort of girl. Friendly enough, but still... Odd. Not a last name either. Maybe elevators weren't so bad, at least not with people like her on them.

_Later_

"John, I'm telling you, it was extraordinary!" John hasn't looked up from his book since Sherlock got home, or the entire time Sherlock was relating the experience.

"I'm sure it was Sherlock, too bad I wasn't there to see your new muse."

"My what?" Now John looks up, a slight smile playing across his face,

"You are obviously obsessed with her. You haven't stopped talking about her since you got home. Twenty minutes ago." Sherlock sighs before sitting on the couch again,

"I'm not obsessed, just interested. She took everything very well. Like you." John stares at Sherlock for a minute,

"You mean people don't usual congratulate you on getting almost everything about their life correct?"

"Now you're teasing."

"She wanted to know what you observed, if you had just set her life's story out on a platter without her asking, I'm pretty sure she would have slapped you."

"Punched."

"What?"

"She would have punched me, slapping is too girly for her. She has brothers."

"How did you know that?" Sherlock looked up,

"She was tired looking." John sighed, time to contradict Sherlock, again,

"Maybe she stays up late, writing. She is a writer you know."

"Not that kind of tired. Weary, like she's sick of her brothers."

"More then one?"

"Obviously, one brother is too easy. They don't wear you out as much. Unless it's Mycroft, then it's a whole other story." John laughs, he never could understand the rivalry between the two, it's one of the only things that convinces John that Sherlock's even human.

"Right. Okay. I'll let you think about her till you wear yourself out."

"Thank you." The two men sit in silence, one that doesn't last long. "OH!" John nearly jumps out of his chair,

"What?"

"I've solved it!"

"Solved what? Who this Hannah girl is?"

"NO! THE CASE STUPID! I've solved the case! What did you think I'd solved?"


	7. The Adventure of The Songs

John's voice carried down the hall to where Sherlock lounged on the couch. Is he... Singing? In the shower? Sherlock sits up, a smile of his face. Oh this is just great. He slinks down the hall, grinning the whole way. The plan? Listen to John's singing, and when he's done showering to bug him about it. Oh, what fun! Sherlock crouches down outside the door, listening.

"I need to believe! But I still want more, with the cuts and the bruises! Don't close the door, on what you adore! Faith! It drives me away!..." His voice trailed off as he hummed the tune. Sherlock pushes the door open slightly, trying to catch the last of the lyrics before the shower shuts off. "It rockets through the universe, it fuels the lies and feeds the curse! And we to could be GLORIOUS!" The water shuts off and the curtain flies open and John steps out. Seeing Sherlock's head poking through the door he shrieks in a very unmanly way and jumps back into the shower, pulling the curtain around him. "HOLMES!" He pushes the door all the way open and leans against the sink,

"What John? I'm right here."

"What are you doing in the bathroom?"

"Listening to you sing."

"WHAT?" Sherlock crosses his arms,

"You heard me. I was listening to you sing." John sputters as he sticks his head out from behind the curtain,

"Wha- WHY?" Sherlock seems to think about this for a moment,

"You surprised me."

"How?"

"You actually have a nice voice. How did you ever make it through the military being all self conscious?"

"I've been back for a while now, privacy is something I cherish. Now if you would be so kind as to hand me a towel and leave so that I can get dressed." Sherlock sighs,

"Dull." He hands John a towel and shuts the door behind him with a click. As soon as he discovers something interesting about John, he has to go and spoil it. He leans against the door and waits for his friend to finish up in the bathroom. Dull. John nearly jumps out of his skin when he opens the door and finds Sherlock staring him down from across the hall.

"WHAT?"

"Nothing John. I've just never met a singer."

"Wait, do you mean you don't sing in the shower?"

"Well obviously not."

"What?"

"According to someone, I don't listen to normal music meaning that I don't have music to sing to in the shower. And plus, why would you sing in the shower when you can just as easily sing out here, where it's easier to be heard." John runs his hands through his still wet hair before answering,

"From my experience, the reason you sing in the shower is to mask the horrible noises you make when you sing. The running water distorts the sound, making you more confident, therefore, you sing."

"I don't sing." Sherlock scoffs,

"I know."

"I play the violin."

"I know that too." John heads toward the kitchen. Obviously taking a shower makes him peckish.

"John?"

"What Sherlock?"

"You called me Holmes."

"You scared the living daylights out of me."

"Daylights don't live." John sighs,

"It's a figure of speech."

"Oh." John finishes in the kitchen,

"How come there is never any food?"

"You don't go shopping."

"I do all the shopping." Sherlock ponders this a moment before nodding in agreement and asking,

"John?"

"What now Sherlock?"

"Would you sing if I played?"

"You play all the time."

"No! I mean if I played the violin, a song that you knew, would you sing?"

"I don't know Sherlock. It depends."

Sherlock raises an eyebrow, "Depends on what?" He retreats to his room and brings his violin out, briefly putting rosin on the bow and sliding it across the keys. "Sing." He demands before bursting into familiar notes, pausing in the middle of a measure when John refused to sing.

"How do you know that song Sherlock?"

"I heard it on the radio once."

"Once?"

"I'll know if you get the lyrics wrong too." He runs the bow over the strings one more time, "Now, sing." John takes a deep breath,

"Sometimes I don't understand you."

"Few do. Shush, now sing." John takes another breath, searching the recesses of his brain for the first set of lyrics. Ah.

"There's a creature that live beneath your bed, of for crying out loud, it's a futon on the floor, he must be flat as a board." He begins tentatively getting a nod from Sherlock to continue as he plays the notes, taking the place of the guitar, "There's a creature that lurks behind the door, though I've checked there fifteen times, when I leave then he arrives, every night. "

"Good John, really good." And Sherlock sways as he plays,

"You know this song is really long?"

"Yeah I know, now sing."

"Tell the monster that live beneath your bed, to go somewhere else instead, or you'll kick him in the head. Tell the creature that lurks behind the door that if he knows what's good, he won't come here no more, cause you're kicking his butt at the count of four. Good night demon slayer goodnight! Now it's time to close your tired eyes. There's devils to slay, and dragons to ride, if they see you coming Hell they better hide. Good night my little slayer goodnight!" Sherlock whips into a violin solo, leaving John in the dust. "Sherlock! I can't sing anymore!"

"I forgive you. Sing something else?"

"Like what?"

"Do you like the Shins?"

"The band?"

"Obviously."

"Yeah. They are pretty neat actually." John pauses as realization dawns, "Have you been looking through my music?"

Sherlock looks at John hard, as if trying to make him read his mind, "Look John, we share a flat, I make it a point to know what you like. Now would you like to sing along with me or not?" John sighs and wipes his face with his hands,

"Listen, I'll sing one more with you. I'm making it a point now to not to sing all the time with you. If someone walked in it'd be a little bit awkward trying to explain." Sherlock nods in his understanding, all the more reason to try and make him sing more often. Heck, they could probably spend the rest of the night singing and playing if he played his cards right. He strummed his violin preparing it for the Shin's song, 'Kissing the Lipless' playing the opening chords. John smiles,

"I like this song too John. Quite interesting actually, now. Sing."

"Called to see, if your back was still aligned and your sheets were growing grass all on the corners of your bed. But you've got to much to wear on your sleeves it has too much to do with me, and secretly I want to bury in the yard, the grey remains of a friendship passed." Sherlock pauses at that last line,

"That won't happen to us right?"

"What?"

"Our friendship won't break like that will it? You won't want to bury the remains of our friendship in a metaphorical yard will you?" Sherlock lowers the violin into his lap, studying John's face, waiting for an answer. John looks at him hard before replying,

"Well I bloody hope not."

* * *

_A free plat of imaginary cookies to anyone who can get the correct name of the song and the artist that wrote it for the first two songs, no cheating now. And I also highly suggest The Shins, they are wonderful band as well as those that I have left anonymous, they are amazing._

_Until Gallifrey is free,_

_Time Lord Victorious  
_


	8. Thoughts of Death

_Sherlock_

I lean back in my chair, reminiscing. Who's going to take my place when I'm gone? What's going to happen to the Scotland Yard? To London? I'm not the most important person, but I do make a difference. No one will be there to take my place, will they? Maybe it's time to turn John into something this world could use. Not in a sense of using him for gain, but use him to help make it a better place. I sigh, this is difficult. Acknowledging that you are not infallible. It hurts to think that I don't have anyone that will be there after me. What would the world be like with out me? What would John be doing if I wasn't here for him? Nothing good I think. Not that I want to die or anything, I'm just thinking. Thinking about how death can take something away. Something that might be important. Life is just a blip, it really is. And is this all we are? Here, this, now? Sheep that roam the world without thought or free thinking? Yes. What would happen if I were to die right now? What would happen? I guess these thoughts cross everyone's mind at some point. Why me? Why now? God. This is horrible. Mrs. Hudson would cry, surely. John probably couldn't care less, maybe he could though. I'm not sure. Mother would have a fit, Mycroft would probably shoot himself. He really does care about me, to some degree at least. Lestrade would be left on his own and slowly the Scotland Yard would get worse and worse at their jobs and this mysterious Moriarty would run the streets. I can't die. I've decided. I'm not going to die. I just have to live forever, hoping that I won't get too weary, too bored, too lonely. Hoping and praying, it might not be enough, but it might be to much too. Oh Hell. My head hurts. I've created paradoxes. Good work Sherlock. I'm not going to die.

"I'm not going to die." John jumps,

"What?"

"I'm not going to die. I'm too important." He smiles.

"Everyone dies Sherlock."

"I know, I'm not though."

"What makes you think you're so special?"

"All the bad things that would happen without me."

"Oh?"

"Indeed."

"So?"

"So I've decided that I'm just not going to die."

"And that will help will it?"

"Obviously. Prevent the bad, and viola."

"I see."

"Said the blind man."

"What?"

"You still don't understand. But no matter. I'm just not going to die."

"You do that. Come to my funeral then?" I look up, smiling,

"Obviously. How could I not."

"Thanks Sherlock." Wait,

"Only if you have those little cakes with the edible ball bearings on them. Those are brilliant."

He raises an eyebrow, "Right. Okay Sherlock."

"Thanks John."

"You know you're going to die right."

"Shut up."

"Why?"

"I'm trying to convince myself that I won't."

"Why?"

I pause, why? Why am I trying? Why am I convincing myself that I won't die? Why am I trying so hard. And then I think. Think of everything about death, and why it bothers me. Why am I trying? Simple. Easy. Obvious. "Because I'm scared of it."


	9. Finally Winning

_Sherlock Ten Years Ago_

He places one more pawn before announcing with a smile, "Check." Mycroft smiles wider over his finger tips before moving his king,

"Not anymore," Sherlock swears loudly before moving another piece. Mycroft laughs loudly before moving a piece in front of Sherlock's king, "Checkmate." He tips Sherlock's king over before pushing his chair back and standing up, "Well, thanks for the game Sherlock. It appears that I've beat you. Again. Maybe in another five years?" Sherlock glares at him,

"Done."

"Same date and time?"

"Next time, your place. I don't know where I'll be by then."

"I don't think you'll win yet."

"I'm not so sure about that. Mycroft."

"Sherlock." Mycroft leaves the room, closing the door with a snap, whistling the whole way home. Sherlock sits at the table, the chess board out in front of him, studying every inch of it. He puts his fingertips together and studies it, a frown on his face. There has to be some way to bet him. You can't win every time. Unless you're Mycroft. Or you're cheating. Sherlock sighs, this bites. He sweeps the board roughly off the table, sending pieces flying. He rubs his eyes,

"Why me?"

_Exactly Five Years Later_

"Checkmate."

"Ah ah ah! Sherlock. Look. It's not checkmate, only check." Sherlock screws his eyes up,

"Oh. I see." Mycroft moves his king, dancing away from Sherlock's knight,

"Try again little brother." Sherlock shakes his head,

"How do you bloody do that?"

"Checkmate. Do what?"

"Win. Every time." Mycroft smiles,

"It wouldn't be a secret if I told you." Sherlock frowns,

"Exactly, so you should tell me."

"Sorry brother. Maybe in another five years."

"I'm getting tired of dancing Mycroft." He raises an eyebrow,

"This is dancing?"

"Obviously. Why else would we meet every five years for a rematch. Why not tomorrow?"

"A simple answer."

"Why not?"

"Because you won't be ready. I'd trump you again. You need to brush up."

"I do fine, thank you Mycroft. Another five years it is then." Sherlock stands, and begins to knock down all his remaining pieces.

"Next time, my place. No doubt you'll know where I am."

"Of course Sherlock."

"I will beat you."

"Of course."

_Present Day_

John pushes open the door to the flat, wondering what Sherlock could possibly be up to on a Sunday night. He finds, to his utter surprise, him locked in heavy combat with Mycroft. He's shooting daggers from across the table, only to get in return, a sly, cold smile from his brother. Metaphorical wars, not really John's thing. He looks down to see the game of chess. Sherlock unlocks his gaze from his brother and studies the board.

"You've gotten good Mycroft."

"What are you talking about? I beat you. Every time." Sherlock waves a hand in the air as if dismissing it as irrelevant before clasping them under his chin again. A smile slowly spreads across his face as realization dawns, a loop, a hole. It's blatantly obvious to him, Mycroft left something uncovered. For once in all their years of playing.

"Oh!" His eyes light up like a Christmas tree as he moves his piece, before declaring proudly, "Checkmate. That was a stupid move Mycroft." He tips Mycroft's king over before clapping like a little child, so happy for such a small accomplishment. He looks up and spies John watching them. He leaps up and grabs John by the lapels, "I'VE WON! I'VE FINALLY BLOODY WON!" He lets out a whoop as he sets John on the ground and races downstairs, shouting gaily the whole way. After years, he's finally won. John turns the Mycroft,

"You let him win didn't you." Not a question, a statement. The sly smile hadn't left his face,

"Obviously. I couldn't bear to crush his hopes and dreams any longer."

"Right. Cause that's what it was."

"Oh but it was. Every time I won, he got so sad and discouraged, we had to space the games out over five year increments." John takes a step back, that really is odd.

"Okay. Do you mind getting out of my flat?"

"Don't tell Sherlock, it will only upset him." Mycroft says in response before grabbing his umbrella and coat from the back of his chair. "And for the record, he's not bad at chess. He's brilliant at it. If I had been anyone else, even the best chess player in the country, he would still beat me." He nods a goodbye before John watched the elder Holmes brother letting himself out, closing the door behind him. John stands there a moment, thinking.

"Note to self, don't play chess with Sherlock." He nods to reassure himself before sitting down on the couch. It had been an exhausting day at work, now all he wanted to do was relax. The flat was nice and silent. Wait. Silent? Where did Sherlock get to? Only moments ago John could hear his shouts of joy coming from down the stairs, now he heard nothing. "Oh bloody Hell." He grumbles to himself as he gets up and puts his coat back on. Leave it to him to have to find the power drunken fool who's announcing it to the world that he's finally won a single game of chess. He must feel invincible now. Sighing John trudges down the stairs, might as well make sure that he doesn't get into any trouble.


	10. Sebastian

_Sherlock Age: 21_

Sebastian sits down heavily, bags under his eyes, hair a mess and still in his pajamas. He's been shagging. It's appalling how noticeable it was.

"What's for breakfast?"

"No idea."

"Sherlock Holmes!" Seb raises an eyebrow, "You know everything, how can you not know what's for breakfast?"

"It's probably something cold or I could have told you. How did you sleep?" Give him Hell Sherlock. That's fun! Make him squirm. Mock me and things happen.

"Fine thank you."

"And how about her?" He doesn't react, he's used to things like this.

"What could you possibly mean Sherlock?"

"Oh that girl. The one with blonde hair and soft fingers."

"What?" Oh I've got him! Oh what fun.

"You heard me perfectly, what was her name? Let me guess, Sabrina? No, Brittney. No. I bet it was Mallory. How many is it this week? Is this the fourth? What if they all find out about each other?" I tsk while he stares wide eyed at me. Obviously I've hit a nerve. Good.

"It was Mallory, how did you-?"

"Remember what I told you about asking those kinds of things." Sebastian nods and falls quiet. There. That's smart, and a good way to keep him thinking. Oh this is just great! I love to make him think. "How much alcohol did you manage to smuggle in?" It stirs him from this thoughts,

"Do I have a stain?"

"No, I can smell it from here. How much?" His eyes light up and a mischievous smile crosses his face,

"Oh, loads."

"That's nice Seb."

"Oh you're just mad that you didn't get invited." Sebastian claps me on the back, laughing loudly. Clearly not as sober as I had assumed. I smile weakly, that's not the case at all.

"Sure Sebastian. You're right as rain." He screws his face up, obviously it doesn't make sense, but in his muffled brain it is something totally off the rocket.

"I'm not okay at all!"

"I know."

"Well then-?"

"How about you just sit back and wait for breakfast okay?" Seb nods,

"Do you know what's for breakfast?"

"No. I already answered this."

"Oh yeah. Thought you knew everything." I sigh. Drunken people are really mundane.

"Did you study for the test in Calculus?" Sebastian's eyes widen,

"We have a test today?"

"Yes Seb. Are you telling me that I spent my last weekend tutoring you for no reason because you didn't even study?" Sebastian shakes his head.

"I totally forgot about this." I pat his shoulder softly,

"It's okay. I forgive you, but if you fail I don't want you beating me up." Seb scoffs,

"As if! I've seen how you fight, I wouldn't be able to lay a finger on it."

"Well played." He grins,

"Thank you!"

"Joseph's been shagging. Third time this week, you know, it's amazing. What must it be like to be you? Transport, the brain is what matters, everything else is transport." Sebastian looks at me as I study the boys as they come down the stairs in their jim-jams.

"You are a weird one Sherlock." I nod,

"Thanks Seb."

"I didn't mean that as a compliment."

"Yes you did."

"Okay. Maybe just a little bit. But sometimes you can really freak us out. How did you know about Mallory?" I tear my eyes away from the sight of the boys and look at Sebastian in the face, raising an eye brow inquisitively.

"Do you really want to know?"

"Do you stay up all night and watch us? Sneaking out of dorm? AGAIN." I give a small laugh in response, obviously I don't do that. Last time I sneaked out, I got caught and scolded for a week. No. I don't do that anymore unless it's absolutely necessary. "Are you psychic?" Okay, now that's really funny. I start to laugh for real,

"I'm not psychic, I simply observe." He laughs a bit,

"Okay, tell me about Joseph. Who did he shag?" I look Joseph over once,

"A brunette, shot, slightly dumpy, but probably pretty. She was clingy all night and is probably still in his bed. She should probably get up or she's going to get caught. Her name is probably Chloe or Rebecca, judging by the amount of spilled drink on his shirt I'd say he was pretty drunk and didn't even realize what he was doing."

"Are you making this up?" Seb sounds like he's offended. No. I'm not making it up. How could he even think that?

"NO! I'm just observing."

"Well what do you see?"

"There is a spot on his arm that is redder then the rest of it, indicating that she clung all night, she was short and her hands are thicker then most girls hands because of the size of the mark. He probably didn't even notice that. Joseph isn't stupid, he's not going to sleep with someone who isn't at least semi-pretty. Short because of the position of the mark on his arm as well. There are a couple of hairs on his shirt that aren't his, brown, definitely a females, brown hair. There you go. Name, every name is pretty stereotypical. I guessed Mallory because it sounds like a blonde name. Rebecca sounds like a brunette." Seb nods before asking,

"There is still one thing I don't understand, how do you figure she's still in his bed?"

"I didn't notice anyone leaving, and Joseph obviously isn't too bright because there is a pair of woman's knickers sticking out of his pocket."

"I should probably go tell him..." I shrug, it's not my problem if he gets in trouble, it also isn't my problem if he doesn't. I don't really care either way,

"Go be chivalrous Sebastian. I know you have it in you." He smiles before getting up and waltzing over to Joseph. I watch as he whispers in his ear and Joseph sits up, going pale. He sends a glance my way and I flash him my best smile and offer a little wave. That will make him steer clear of me for a while. Joseph stands up and dashes back to his room to get the girl to leave before getting him into trouble. I think it's been a productive morning. I want to laugh but that would be wrong. Seb comes back over, a smile on his face,

"Did you see how pale he got?" he starts to laugh as he takes a seat, and I laugh with him. Now it's not so odd.

"That will make me even more of a freak, at least you stick with me Seb. Why is that?"

He looks at me a moment as if trying to figure it out himself, "I don't know Sherlock. You're an interesting chap, and I kind of like it." I smile, Sebastian is the last person I would think would think like that.

"Thanks Seb."

"It's the truth."

* * *

_Author's note: So, a friend and I decided, while we were talking, to do something like this. We were having a chat about Sebastian's relationship with Sherlock in The Blind Banker episode. We thought, hey, why not write a fic about it? And then I said, WHY DON'T WE BOTH DO THAT! She thought it was a brilliant idea, and so this is where it came from. Hope you liked it. I had fun writing it. Her pen name is Arlothia if you're interested in reading what she came up with. I'm not sure she's done it yet, we talked about it yesterday so... I just didn't have anything today so I kind of wrote this because I didn't have anything. This one is dedicated to her, but I hope you guys liked it. Tell me what you think? _

_Until Gallifrey is free,_

_Time Lord Victorious_

_P.S. Arlothia is a brilliant writer. I love her work and she is just great in general. I suggest you check her out.  
_


	11. Perfect Ending to Finally Winning

Sherlock races down the street, shouting,

"I DID IT!" He shoves open the door of the Scotland Yard and brushes past everyone to get to Lestrade's door, all the while crying, "I DID IT!" The door to Lestrade's office bursts open and Lestrade starts, sending papers flying while Sherlock stands in his door way looking around wildly. "I DID IT!" But there hadn't been a case for weeks. Lestrade looks at Sherlock a moment, brow furroed,

"Did what?" Sherlock's happiness is dimmed for a moment,

"What do you mean? I DID IT!"

"DID WHAT?"

"I BEAT MYCROFT! I BEAT THE BLOODY GAME OF CHESS!" Lestrade smiles at the absurdity of the phrase and just for kicks decides to ask it again,

"You did what?" Sherlock grabs Lestrade by the shoulders, looking him straight in the face, making absolutely certain there would be no mistaking,

"I. WON. THE. CHESS. GAME."

"And how long has it taken you?"

"More then fifteen years." Despite himself, Lestrade's jaw drops to the floor,

"What?"

"It's taken me fifteen years to beat Mycroft at that bloody game."

"And you care because...?" Sherlock pushes the DI away a little bit, looking appalled.

"What do you mean?"

"Why do you care that you won?"

"Well. I won Lestrade. I won. That's why I care." He's practically begging Lestrade to understand and to be kind, congratulations would be in order. Lestrade grins,

"Good job Sherlock." The light in Sherlock's eyes shines brighter as he spins on his heel, smiling and screaming,

"I WON! I DID IT!" He steps onto the snow swept streets of London, getting snow in his eyes. He screws his eyes up in disgust before shouting loudly again, "I DID IT!" He pushes past the people going the opposite direction and swims through the streets, weaving in and out of crowds. "I DID IT!" He starts heading toward where he knows where the flat is, blinking snow from his eyes the whole way. "I WON! I DID IT! FINALLY!" He can't watch, he wants a hug though, it would make his day. He's so happy. Finally, after years of humiliation and loss, he's won. And it feels fantastic. "I- oof." Sherlock looks down at the man he bumped into. "HI JOHN! I WON!" John smiles,

"I know Sherlock." Sherlock throws his arms open and embraces the shorter man, hugging him tightly, just what he wanted. For a moment, John didn't do anything, but knowing that Sherlock wouldn't release him until he hugged back, John wrapped his arms around Sherlock. Sherlock gives John a squeeze and lifts him off the floor a little bit. "Sherlock." John wheezes as Sherlock swings John back and forth like a teddy bear, "Sherlock. I can't breathe." Sherlock hurriedly drops John on the ground,

"I'm sorry. Was that too tight?" John coughs once and clears his throat a little,

"Yeah. Just a bit. You do know what you did just there right?"

"I hugged you."

"Yes. In public."

"Well what's wrong with in public?"

"People might think we're a couple."

"I don't care much for what people think."

"I've come to understand that."

"Why do you care?"

"I don't like people thinking I'm gay."

"There's nothing wrong with gay people John." The two men start to head back home, talking like friends. Because that is what they are. Friends.

"I know that Sherlock. Remember the first day I met you?"

"And you told me it's all fine. Yes."

"I don't have a problem with gay people Sherlock."

"Then what is it John?"

"I'm not gay."

"I know that."

"I don't like people thinking otherwise."

"Ah." The two men fall silent, left to their own thoughts. "John?" Sherlock asked as they reached the flat,

"What Sherlock?"

"I won."

* * *

_You can attribute this lovely addition, or the ending of Finally Winning to M.G. Montecello. They gave me the idea. Thanks to M.G. Montecello and hope you enjoyed this addition, because I sure did. Have a great weekend, and if you happen to have a wonderful idea that I can use and write something on, don't be afraid to PM me or to leave something in the comments. Much love, as always,_

_Until Gallifrey is free,_

_Time Lord Victorious  
_


	12. Life Without

_Sherlock_

John's not in yet, good. I can easily finish this experiment. Give me two minutes, and then, voila. I don't know what it's actually supposed to do so lets try it anyway. I drag the extension cord closer to the outlet, which is hard to do considering all the plugs that are attached to it. Hopefully it'll just prove that one outlet can power about fifty electrical devices. It's probably not really a smart idea, but oh well. I'm bored. The door bangs open,

"JOHN!"

"SHERLOCK! What are you doing?" Stretch out, just a bit further and you can plug it in, plug it in!

"What does it look like?"

"Something stupid." Gotcha. I plug in the cord. There are sparks and I leap backward as the flat goes dark. "I was right. Something stupid."

"Shut up John. What happened?"

"You've shorted something out you git."

"What?"

"I don't know what you've done but now the lights won't work. You've surged the power you have. What's Mrs. Hudson going to say?"  
"My thoughts exactly." Footsteps on the stairs, Mrs. Hudson. Oh no.

"What have you done Sherlock? Nothing's working!"

"Oh, um... That wasn't me." John hits me on the shoulder hard, how he can see me in the dark is a wonder. Wait, he was in the army, obviously he could shoot in the dark. He must have amazing hearing.

"Sherlock, don't you dare lie to her."

"Okay it was me. I don't know what I did." John hits me again,

"Yes you do!"

"I plugged in fifty seven appliances." Mrs. Hudson gasps audibly.

"SHERLOCK! Why would you do that?"

"Oh come on! It's not that big of a deal! I was bored. Now I'm not."

"Oh Hell Sherlock! Do you know how long it's going to take them to come and fix this?"

"A while I'd wager," Hopefully not too long. This is getting old fast. "Come on! You have to admit it's just a little bit exciting." Butter them up and they won't hate you so much.

"No, Sherlock, it actually isn't. It's annoying. I pop out for a few minutes and you destroy the place."

"JOHN! I didn't do anything!" Mrs. Hudson tsks before heading down the stairs,

"Might as well make a call. Get them out here. Fix my electricity." I sigh, Mrs. Hudson. Good job John. You called me out and now I'm in trouble.

"You make the call John. I've left my phone in the bedroom." John sighs,

"Sometimes I wonder about you."

"Why?"

"You're going to get yourself killed one day."

"Everyone dies John. Except for me of course." John chuckles before taking out his phone,

"Right. I remember that conversation."

"Good. Because I'm not having it again." I make my way to the couch. Bored now. Again. John hid my gun and Mrs. Hudson took my skull. I put my head in my hands sighing loudly, I am so bored!

"What Sherlock?"

"Bored. There's nothing to do."

"You killed the electricity, what do you expect?"

"Non boredom." John sighs, he just doesn't understand. "What can I do?"

"Call Lestrade,"

"Dull. He doesn't have anything for me."

"How do you know?"

"I just do."

"Right. Read a book."

"There's no light."

"Right. Sorry. Go for a walk." Walking, that actually doesn't sound bad.

"Only if you come with me."

"Done."

"Never realized how boring life without electricity was."

"When we get back it should be fixed."

"I just hope my human liver doesn't go bad by that time."

"WHAT?"

"It's an experiment." I get up, time to go for a walk. Walks are nice. Sometimes anyway.

_Sherlock Age: 19_

I kick the rock down the sidewalk, brooding. I hate the snow, it's so... dull. I run my hand down the bricks, what fun. There is nothing to do. Bored. Nothing interesting is going on and I'm bored. Maybe I should walk to the library. I like to sit in the cafe sometimes, I like to watch the people, observe them. When I watch them, their whole life's story is presented to me on a plate. It's kind of interesting to see the normal mundane people, to see their lives. The cafe at the end of the street is my favorite. The owners are nice and the coffee is good. I push open the door and wave at the cashier,

"Morning Lou." She flashes me a brilliant smile,

"Good morning Sherlock. What will it be?"

"Oh. My usual. Large coffee, black, two sugars. Your hair looks nice today, what did you do to it?"

"I got it redyed last night." She flicks her obviously dyed black hair at me.

"New lip stick I see too." She smacks her lips, bright red.

"Do you like it?"

"Oh, it's alright, I liked the other kind better." Her smile falters,

"Large coffee, black, two sugars coming right up." I smile as I pay her, ticking her off more. Oh she is so easy to mess with. It's hysterical. I take my coffee and sit in my usual corner, watching the people that enter and leave. It's been a productive morning. I could get used to this.


	13. Food For Thought

_Sherlock Age: 29_

I never really understood shadows. They weren't really what I was interested in, and still now they intrigue me. I can't say that I'm pleased that they make me stop and wonder, because I'm not. They just, inspire me. They are pretty. Featureless. Blank. Perfect. Shadows are flawless. Why can't I be a shadow? What does it feel like to be a shadow? I wave my hand, watching my shadow ripple on the carpet. I'm not a child, I know why they are they, I just. I don't know. We could very easily be going about without shadows. I jiggle my leg, watching it move with me. Attached to me, following my every move. It's like a mirror, but inverted. Intriguing.

"Sherlock. Are you even paying attention?" I look up. Right. Mycroft wanted something,

"Of course brother."

"You do know that this is very important. We're losing more and more..." Boring. I turn toward my shadow again. They are interesting. Not boring at all. Honestly, I don't care about whatever Mycroft is trying to get me to do. I don't want it. He kidnapped me and now he's trying to get me to be his servant. Not going to happen. He grabs my shoulder, "Sherlock. Pay attention." I tear my eyes away from my shadow and stand up,

"You know what Mycroft? You do it."

"I don't think you understand..."

"Oh I do. Perfectly. And I think you should do it."

"Do you even know what's going on?" I clear my throat,

"Of course. And I don't care."

"You don't care that people are dying?"

"Not really my problem. I'm not dying am I? I'm not in immediate danger."

"You could be. I can't believe you're being so selfish."

"Believe it." I stand up, I want to learn more about shadows, I want to take pictures, I want to play with my shadow. At least it will entertain me for a while.

"Sherlock."

"Mycroft, you don't need me."

"Yes I do. Remember what you said. All those years ago?"

"When I said I wouldn't need your help? That I don't need anyone?"

"Where were you?"

"The hospital."

"What did you say after that?" I rack my brains, call forth the memory Sherlock. It's like a computer, you may have deleted it, but there's still a ghost of the images there. Ah.

"_Mycroft. What the Hell could you possibly want?"_

"_Is it so wrong to want to see my younger brother, hoping he hasn't managed to get himself killed?"_

"_Yes." I looked back up at the ceiling, brooding, wishing that if I ignored my brother, that he might actually leave. "So what is it that you really want?"_

"_Why did you get yourself shot at Sherlock. And don't bother lying to me, I can always tell when you're lying." I sighed, and then wished I hadn't. My ribs hurt when I breathed to deep. _

"_I stuck my nose into something I shouldn't have. Happy? Now you can poke fun of me and use this event to your advantage and my expense." _

"_Do you want me to clear it up for you?"_

"_Like you could do anything. And I don't need your help." Mycroft looked at me meaningfully,_

"_Don't need my help? You can't even get out of this bed without help."_

"_Then I'll stay here until I can. Until then you can leave me alone."_

"_Sherlock. You are arrogant and totally ignorant. When will you finally admit you need your family?" I looked at him for a moment, the answer was blatantly obvious in my mind. Obviously he needed clarification,_

"_Mycroft. Never. At least not until they admit they need me. Which will be never. I can do things myself. I'm fine. I don't need anyone."_

"_Yes you do." I shook my head in disagreement,_

"_That will never happen. I can hold my own."_

"Do you want the whole conversation? Because I have it in transcript." He smiles,

"Enlighten me."

"Eight years ago, almost to the day, you walked into the hospital, finding me in a hospital bed with a hole blown through my side. You called me arrogant and ignorant and then you accused me of needing my family." I'm appalled, and I'm sure it shows on my face. Mycroft nods, good. He follows. "I told you that I would never need them, not until they need me, which will be never." Mycroft nods faster,

"There, you see?"

"And?"

"I need you Sherlock."

"That doesn't mean anything Mycroft."

"You need me."

"No I don't."

"We can help each other."

"No we can't." I head for the door, one hand on the door knob, and I turn back to my brother, "Sorry Mycroft, I'm a bit... Preoccupied. Picked a bad time. You always do." He frowns, as if begging me not to leave. Maybe he really does need me. What was he talking about? I check my phone, and swear under my breath as I hail a cab. I'm late. Why am I always late? I find it funny that Mycroft picks all the really bad days to find some way to kidnap me. Actually, I don't find it funny, I find it annoying. I turn my back to the sun, watching my shadow move to the front of me. I see it. I love my shadow, ti's actually something constant in my life. I have an appointment with Lestrade, and I'm late. And my shadow's mocking me. I sigh. Great. Not what I want. I saunter down the street, I have places to be. Shadows are amazing, and I like them, especially mine. One day the sun will burn out and shadows will be impossible. Food for thought.

_Author's Note: The italicized "flashback" is an excerpt from one of my previous stories in 'This Should Be Interesting' entitled, 'A Shot in the Dark' Check it out if you want. _

_Sorry about not having anything up on Sunday, I think I won't be able to do anything on Sunday's. They have gotten very busy. Tell me what you think? Thanks for all my reviewers so far. I love you all!_

_Until Gallifrey is free,_

_Time Lord Victorious_


	14. Just a Game of Cards

John sat across from Sherlock, flipping his cards quickly, hardly looking at the small stack. Sherlock reached out and slapped the deck, cackling as he did so. He scooped up the small pile and added them to his hand. John swears under his breath before addressing Sherlock,

"How the Hell are you that fast? I'm pretty sure that you're cheating." Sherlock grins,

"It's not a matter of cheating, it's a matter of your clumsiness."

"What?" Sherlock sighs and sets his cards on the table, face down of course. Reaching across the small table he grips John's wrist,

"See, when you flip the card to put it to the desk, you do this," Sherlock demonstrates, "You flip it in such a way that I see the card before you do. Therefore I know what card it is and when to smack the deck." Sherlock releases John's wrist and sits back in his chair, a smug look on his face.

"Well isn't that how you flip them?" Sherlock smiles again before shaking his head,

"No." John scoffs,

"Well then show me." Sherlock scoops his cards up again.

"I'll do it slowly so your brain can comprehend."

"Ouch Sherlock." Sherlock smiles again before flipping the card over. "Once more, slower this time?"

"Oh, but of course." Sherlock very slowly flips the card over and stacks it with the rest of the pile. John grins suddenly and smacks the deck before Sherlock could react.

"Gotcha." He gathers the cards while Sherlock scowls at him.

"Now that was cheating."

"No it wasn't. We were still playing. You just weren't paying attention. Play." John straightens out his deck, waiting for Sherlock to lay down a card so they could continue to play. Sherlock is quiet,

"I suggest a new game. Give me your cards." As soon as John handed them over he knew it was a mistake.

"FIFTY TWO PICK UP!" Sherlock throws the cards into the air and lets them drift down on John's head, like the snow that was falling outside. John sits there, making those faces of unhappiness, and maybe a little bit perturbed, that Sherlock had grown accustomed to. "Oh come on, you should have seen it coming John. Now you're just being an arse." John frowns,

"Oh, so now I'm being an arse. Says the man that threw fifty cards over my head."

"It was fifty two. Fifty two are in a deck." John sighs.

"That's counting the jokers."

"Yes."

"Which we left in the box." Sherlock makes a face and screws his eyes up,

"Shut up John."

"Only stating the facts my dear friend. And I am not picking those up." John stands up, kicking the chair behind him. Sherlock groans,

"Out to see Sarah again?"

"Of course. We have a date."

"Can't you cancel?"

"Why would I do that?"

"Because I'm bored, and I wanted to go out tonight. I need some air."

"The world doesn't revolve around you Sherlock." Sherlock furrows his brow,

"It doesn't?"

"You better be joking Sherlock. We had a conversation on this not too long ago."

"We did?"

"The Earth goes round the sun, as do all planets."

"Oh! That conversation."

"Yes. That one." John shrugs on his coat, getting ready for a night out with Sarah.

"Please John. Don't make me beg." John rounds on Sherlock, who, he could swear, had tears in his eyes. "You'll regret the decision as soon as you make it." John knows he shouldn't do it, he knows, but he can't help it.

"Sherlock, I can't. Not tonight." Sherlock's bottom lip trembles as he walks toward John, gripping his arm he starts to bawl,

"PLEASE! DON'T LEAVE ME HERE! NOT BY MYSELF! I DON'T WANT TO BE BORED! NO ONE CARES ABOUT ME!" Sherlock sinks to the floor, tears spilling down his cheeks, he pulls John's arm to his face as he cries, "YOU WANT ME TO DIE! IT'S THE TRUTH! NO ONE LOVES ME! IT'D BE BEST IF I JUST DISAPPEARED RIGHT NOW! WO IS ME! EVERYONE HATES ME! THE WORLD IS GOING TO BURN BECAUSE I'M USELESS!" Sherlock stops screaming, but not crying, it's really heart wrenching to watch, and John knows he shouldn't, knows that Sherlock is being dramatic, but he can't help but feel guilty. Sherlock knows he's going to get his way as soon as John joins him on the floor, and fights the urge to smile. Easiest game of winning over he's ever played.

"Fine Sherlock. FINE! You better have something pretty spectacular planned though." Sherlock looks up at his friend who knelt above him, grinning. He wipes his cheeks and stands up, straightening his jacket and holding his arms out for a hug,

"Oh just you wait." John frowns and folds his arms,

"Sarah's going to have a fit. She hates you enough as it is." Sherlock drops his arms, looking slightly dejected.

"Her and the rest of the world. So," he shrugs, "What's one more person?"

"You have to promise to pick up the cards when we get back."

"Of course."

"It was just a game of cards, and now you've managed to talk me out of a date. How do you do it?"

"Very carefully."

* * *

_The beginning part of this fic was inspired by something Mark Gatiss said in the commentary of 'The Great Game'. He said that the stunt doubles for Benedict and Martin were amazing. One day, after Benedict and Martin had gone home, Mark walked by and saw Sherlock and John playing cards. That quote inspired this fic. I suggest watching that episode with commentary. It's amazing. _

_And I've just revealed how dorky I am._

_Until Gallifrey is free,_

_Time Lord Victorious  
_


	15. A Bit Of Inspiration

_Mycroft Age:25_

Sherlock. Where did he get off too. I tell him to do the laundry and he disappears. At least he actually took my clothes. Maybe he's actually doing the laundry. I doubt it, but maybe. When I asked him about an hour ago he was reading. He looked really into the book too. I don't know what book it was, he didn't let me see. He was really grouchy too. I wonder what's gotten into him. Maybe he's suffering with drawls. I sigh, he's left a mess. Again. I pick up his coat and shoes that sat in the middle of the hallway. Typical. I should probably go look for him. I hang his coat up and leave his shoes on the stairs, that brother of mine is going to get himself into trouble. He's probably going to get himself killed at some point, and maybe I won't be there to help him. That's an awful though Mycroft, don't think like that. It'll get you into trouble yourself.

"Sherlock." I call softly, he's got to be around here somewhere. I should probably text him, and then check his room.

_Sherlock._

_Where are you?_

_Mycroft Holmes_

He doesn't answer me. Typical. I trudge up the stairs and push open his room. Big mistake. The room is a mess. Clothes are all over the floor. I don't know if they are clean or dirty. I can't tell. Books and papers are strewn all over the floor. Of course. He's spilled something on his bed, broken a vial on the floor, and covered the windows with paint. There is something wrong with that boy. What's his skull doing on the ceiling fan? That's just... Not right. He's crazy.

"Sherlock?" I poke my head into the closet. Nothing. And by nothing I mean, it's completely empty. Everything that should be in the closet is on the floor. I sigh again. This child, my brother is not right in the head. He has no sense of decency. I leave his room, still no word from Sherlock. "Sherlock?" I call again as I head downstairs. He must be doing the washing then. Why would he be doing the washing? He's so lazy he wouldn't really be doing the washing would he? I stomp down the stairs, "Sherlock?" I ease open the door and step back in surprise. Sherlock is doing the laundry. The washer is shivering and shaking as the clothing whips around and around. Sherlock is sitting on top of the washer, the same book in hand, deeply engrossed. His eyes whip back and forth across the pages, and his slender white fingers turn the pages rapidly. I smile. That boy. I start to close the door when he calls out to me,

"What do you want Mycroft?" I pause,

"I just wanted to make sure you'd done the laundry."

"You aren't my mother."

"I know."

"And clearly, I'm doing the laundry."

"I can see that."

"What book are you reading."

"It doesn't matter."

"Fine. Dinner's in an hour."

"I know the time Mycroft."

"Do you?"

"Obviously."

"You didn't answer my text."

"I'm clearly busy."

"That doesn't mean you can't just drop off the face of the Earth." Sherlock only now looks up,

"I didn't. I just found it irrelevant."

"Irrelevant to tell your brother where you are?"

"Yes." He turns back to his book, "I'll be upstairs in an hour."

"What are we having?"

"Roast. Of course."

"Explain Sherlock."

"Roast Thursdays. Plus I can smell it through the vent."

"Good work."

"You did teach me."

"I can see you're busy. I'll leave you to it."

"Thank you." I close the door behind me. I taught him everything I ever knew, and he's just as good. I might be a little bit better then him, but he'll never admit it. Roast Thursdays. How clever. I smile as I head up the stairs again. That's my brother.


	16. Holmecide Part 1

_Sherlock_

Something is amiss, and I don't know what. It irks me that I can't figure out what's wrong with the flat. Something's changed though, something's different.

"Mrs. Hudson?" I call down the stairs, maybe she'd been in. Everything is in order, but it just doesn't... Feel right.

"Yes dear?"

"Have you been in our flat?" The landlady shakes her head before smiling,

"Is something wrong dear?"

"Maybe." She frowns as I withdraw back into the flat. Someone's been in. I pop out for twenty minutes, a silly domestic case down at the Yard, and my home gets invaded. How typical. Maybe John came back for a few moments and then stepped out again. Or maybe, I start to counsel myself, your run in with Moriarty is making you paranoid. Maybe. I don't think so though. I'm pretty good about everything. Something is just... off. Not right. I sniff the air, normal, I run my fingers over the wood of the coffee table, normal. Something is putting me off, and I don't know what it is. I stiffen, movement, in the kitchen. Some one is in my flat. No need to be quiet though, they must have heard me call to Mrs. Hudson. I immediately loosen my muscles, shake them out once and then casual stroll over to the kitchen. Someone is in my fridge, back to me. Only one person.

"Sherlock. Do you really not eat?" Moriarty.

"Obviously. What are you doing here?" He turns to face me, a smile on his face,

"I just came to see my favorite person. My dear." I roll my eyes,

"As if you don't know already."

"Where's your little boyfriend? It was him I actually came to see." I don't correct him. It's not like that, he just said it to irritate me. I take a deep breath and swallow hard before answering. He scares me. He shouldn't but he does.

"Of course, you would know where he's at. Jim." He smiles wider and shuts my fridge,

"Don't want to spoil that liver in there. I hope it isn't human."

"So why are you really here? No games."

"Just thought I'd step in and say hi."

"Already done." Moriarty saunters around my kitchen, running his fingers over everything within reach. He picks up one of my earlier experiments and holds it to the light, examining it.

"I just want you to see how capable I am."

"What?"

"Your landlady, she doesn't even know I'm here."

"Yes."  
"I could come in at any time and kill you if I wanted to Sherlock." He sets it down and shoves his hands in his pockets, "Do you know where your 'pet' is?" Fear, like a spike, digs itself into my heart, the one I don't have. Don't let him see, act indifferent.

"Yes."

"Do you?"

"He's at work."

"No he isn't." Oh Hell. What has he done? Bugger. Not John.

"Enlighten me."

"John never made it to work today, and if you were so good, you'd know he'd be home by now." I blink hard, seven o'clock already? I'd only popped out for twenty minutes.

"You still haven't told me..."

"Hush now. No need to be impatient. I know you're bored. Thought you might like a little bit of help. Getting unbored."

"Not like this. And that's not even a proper word." He smirks. If he's done anything, anything at all...

"Well I can't let you have all the fun now can I?" He waltzes up to me, looking up into my face, studying everything. As if he's trying to look into my soul, trying to see what I'm feeling. Anger, hurt, fear, desperate.

"Fun? What have you done?"

"Nothing too illegal."

"Jim."

"Well it wouldn't be a game if I told you. You have to figure it out. Silly."

"People's lives could be at stake."

"And since when have you cared?" He feigns surprise, "I thought you didn't have a heart! Could it be that you care for John Watson the returned army doctor?" He smirks again, "Or do you just want someone to look after you? Because I might be able to arrange something."

"Are you making an offer?" Disbelief, how could he be doing this? It's wrong!

"Are you considering it?"

"Not at all. Mrs. Hudson took my skull again, and John's my resident doctor. You don't want me dying from a paper cut now would you?" Jim chuckles darkly,

"Will you play?"

"Is this the only way I'm getting my M.D back?"

"Oh yes my dear."

"Then yes."

"Good. I was so hoping you would play! Your first clue is in this envelope. Good luck." He reaches inside his jacket and pulls out an envelope, "Just like the last one, don't worry, I'm being fair." I take it from him and analyze it carefully, I can't trust him, not for one moment. He starts to leave, pausing at the door to look at me, smiling, that reptilian grin, slight head shifting, barely noticeable, "Oh and Sherlock. You have twelve hours to find him, or your doctor will be lost forever." He pauses for effect before delivering the final blow, "And no one will ever find the body. Good night Sherlock." He's gone,

"I'll solve this."

"I hope you do." Nothing. I sink to the floor, the envelope in my grip shaking. Oh Hell. Jim's bad news. He must be really bored, to come and visit me. And I just let him stand there. Twelve hours, twelve to find John. Oh God.


	17. Holmecide Part 2

_Sherlock_

_11 hours 58 minutes_

Oh God. John's going to die. And it's all my fault. I stand up and open the envelope, at least have some faith Sherlock. Moriarty may be cruel, evil, and heartless, but he is fair. It's not a phone this time, instead the envelope wasn't even addressed. This time it's a picture. A drawing of the Thames. If he thought this was a clue, he's insane. This isn't a clue, it's a picture of the Thames and the Waterloo bridge. Where the tide comes in. There's nothing over there, I've been fifty times or more in the past week for Lestrade. Lestrade. He can help. I mentally kick myself, no. I have to do it on my own. I study the picture closer as Mrs. Hudson comes up the stairs,

"Sherlock dear, what is it?" I say nothing. Don't want to alarm her now do I? "Sherlock. Where's John?"

"Not coming home tonight." She smiles,

"He and Sarah get on well."

"Yes."

"What is that?" I don't look up, looking looking, what am I looking for?

"A drawing."

"Of what Sherlock."

"The Thames and Waterloo bridge." She chuckles,

"There's nothing over there."

"I know."

"So what's in the picture?"

"Where the tide comes in."

"What are you looking for." Anger. My head snaps up and I glare at her,

"I don't know!" Her smile falters and she backs down the steps, letting me examine the only clue I'm going to get to finding John. Something about Waterloo. I'll have to go down there. I sigh. This is what caring for people does, it makes you worry. Puts them in the line of fire, makes them and yourself vulnerable. I knead my eyes, a migraine starting behind them. Perfect. Just what I need now. I'll have to go down to Waterloo. There might be another clue there. Time for a decision. "Mrs. Hudson!"

"What dear?"

"I'm going out."

_John_

What the Hell? Where am I? How come I can't- I don't know what happened. Oh Hell. My head aches something horrible. I don't remember anything after breakfast with Sherlock. Oh God. There is only way this is possible. One name that twists itself over and over in my mind. Moriarty. Of everyone I've met, James is the one that I fear the most. Oh God. He's going to kill me. I can't see. I can't feel. My arms hurt and my mouth is gagged. No calling out then. What's that sound? Water is it? Oh God. He's put me on the Thames, near the Thames, around the Thames. I'm going to drown. At least it's better then getting stabbed. Or blown up. John, relax. You aren't going to die, Sherlock's going to find you. Is that my phone? How stupid is Moriarty? He didn't take my phone away! My hands are bound, I can't get it. I reach around myself, trying anyway. You never got anywhere without trying. I can just feel it, just there. It's still buzzing, right. Don't hang up Sherlock. Please. Wait. You can't answer the damn thing. You can barley move your arms. Where's your pocket knife you sod? In the desk back at the flat. Perfect. You're going to make Sherlock proud you are, where are you? What do you know about the place? It's cold. Damp. Hard, concrete. Am I in a bloody box? Oh God. I'm going to die in a box. Oh heaven help me. I run my fingers along the floor, trying to find something to untie my hands with. Nothing. Of course. I can't stand, the box is a bit too small. I'm in a bloody box! I'm not going to make it I don't think. Oh God. I don't want to die right now. Not right now. Not like this.

_Sherlock_

_10 hours_

Oh God. If John dies I'm going to never forgive myself.

"Do you think you could hurry up? I'm in a bit of a hurry." The cab driver barely looks back at me, making the face of an annoyed cabbie. Typical.

"Might cost you more."

"Gladly." He frowns.

"Do you mind me asking why you need to get to Waterloo bridge so fast?"

"Yes. But I will say this, if my friend dies before we get there, I hold you entirely responsible." The cabbie pales and puts his foot down.

_7 hours 30 minutes_

I'm never going to find him in time. Oh this is a nightmare. I comb the tide line and the whole bit of the shore. Nothing. Nothing for miles. Water splashes on my feet and angrily, I kick at a small rock. I swear under my breath as I pace back and forth again. Why does Moriarty play these games. He wants me to lose. He wants me to win. I can't figure him out. What's wrong with him. I'm a sociopath, but Jim? He's a psychopath. An interesting one. Shut up Sherlock. John's in trouble. You have to find John. Right. John. Clue. There has to be one here. I take the picture out again, studying the hand drawn lines, looking for something, anything. I look up, there. The one thing out of place in the hand drawn image, a small box. Here on the shore, not prominent in the picture. Cautiously I pick my way across the shore, hoping beyond hope that it holds what I want it too. It's a small box, metal, like a lunch box, only the ones used for construction workers. Unlocked, obviously. Another envelope. Another clue? I slide it open, praying. A folded note. Typed, card-stock. Interesting. I unfold it and nearly drop.

_How long have you wasted scanning the shore? Two? Three? How much time do you have left? Six or Seven hours. And you still don't know where to look. Tsk Tsk. Thought you were smarter then that Sherlock. How about you try Sussex bridge next, my dear. _

_Tick _

_Tick_

_Tick_

That bastard. He's egging me on. And I'm sure as Hell going to fall for it. Seven hours, and counting.

* * *

_Moriarty here. Just kidding guys. Okay. I know what I want to do, I just need to figure out of I want FIVE parts or only FOUR parts. I also want input on how I'm doing so far. For those of you who have read my multi part fics, you understand that I rely on you. I have it all planned out, but I need help to know what you as the readers want. For those that are new, help is good. I second opinion is good in my line of work. _

_Until Gallifrey is free,_

_Time Lord Victorious  
_


	18. Holmecide Part 3

_Sherlock_

_5 hours 30 minutes _

Oh God. Only six hours left, and no sign of John yet. Nothing. Sussex bridge is stupid, boring and pointless. Nothing. Moriarty is toying with me. I should have suspected it. Another box, another clue, another message to mock me.

_Tsk Tsk Sherlock. I've told you. I'm so changeable. Your pet isn't here. I've moved him. Now you're thinking how unfair I'm being. You should have come out to play earlier mister. How long do you have now? Five hours? Maybe six tops. A riddle for your thoughts?_

_A Bridge, named after a city,_

_Large and firm,_

_It stands tall._

_A box that's large,_

_And a man inside._

_I bet he's crying._

_Fives hours left,_

_Can you find?_

_Before the ticking stops,_

_And the fire begins._

_Five hours left my dear. Can you find him? _

I crumble the note up. Five hours. Five hours left to find John. London bridge, obviously. Is he saying that he has John in a box? OH HELL! I think John might be a little bit claustrophobic.

"London bridge, on the double."

_John_

This box is too small. I can hardly breathe. Oh God. I'm going to die. I don't want to. I don't want to die. I've managed to untie my hands, my wrists are raw and the skin is broken. Jim didn't tie my feet together, there isn't room in the box to move. Oh God. I can't find the opening. There is no door. I can't get out. Oh God help me.

_Sherlock_

_3 hours 10 minutes_

Oh God. Where is he? I'm going to kill him. I'm going to kill Moriarty. He will never see the light of day again. Oh God. I scan the shore again. Nothing. Oh God. I pace back and forth, back and forth, kicking up muck and debris. Nothing. I peer across the Thames. I have to find John. I just have to find him.

_John_

Sherlock. Oh God. He's going to go insane. He needs someone to help him. It was my calling and I got myself into trouble. Oh God. I can't move. My phone. I can reach it now, barely, but I can. I dial Sherlock's number, speed dial one. Pick up, pick up. Sherlock. Pick up your bloody phone, for once. This time I need you.

_Sherlock_

_3 hours_

My phone, it's ringing. Slowly I take it out. OH MY GOD. It's John.

"John. Where the Hell are you?" His voice is shaky,

"I don't know Sherlock."

"What do you know about the place?"

"I'm in a box. Near the Thames. I don't know where. But what time is it?"

"Early."

"Oh my God. Come find me. Please. Just find me."

"I'm trying friend, I'm trying."

"How long has he given you?"

"I have three hours left John. Only three."

"Sherlock."

"Yes John?"

"I believe in you."

"Thank you."

"Did he tell you what would happen if you didn't find me?" I have to find him. He's scared, he's trying to suck it up, but he's scared. Oh God.

"Yes."

"I'm the one that's going to experience a mental breakdown any minute, so would you care to share?"

"From what I can gather, if I don't find you, you're going to burn." John swears,

"At least it's better then drowning, or suffocating." John. You idiot. Now is not the time to be making jokes, you of all people should know that. "Sherlock."

"What?"

"If I die, just know that sharing a flat with you has been amazing. Even if I hate you sometimes, and if you scare me sometimes. If I had to relive the past, I would do it again and again. You're my best mate."

"Thank you John, but now really isn't the time to be saying goodbye. I'll finish up on this side of the Thames and then I'm heading over to the other side." I pause, and hear him shift a little on the other line. Oh God. He's scared. "I _will _find you John. You can count on that." and I hang up the phone. Oh God. He's scared, he's going to die, and it's all my bloody fault.

_John_

He's going to find you John, you just have to close your eyes and pretend it's a dream. Because it is, and when you wake up, Sherlock will be standing over you with his skull and a frown on his face because you fell asleep on the couch. Oh God. Stop thinking like that John. You were in war! You shouldn't be thinking like this. I should, I so should. I don't like small places. I had enough of that in Afghanistan. Oh God. I'm going to die in here. Alone, cold, and scared. Oh God. It has to be a dream. I pinch my shoulder, not a dream. Oh God. That bastard. Sherlock is going to kill him. He's going to kill the bastard.

_Sherlock_

_1 hour 25 minutes_

What have I been doing all this time? Eh? One hour left, one and still, no sign of John. Oh God. What is that? Across the Thames? What is it? Is it a... box?

"Oh my God." I whisper quietly, a concrete box, barely noticeable, but right there. All this time. Oh my God. John is locked up inside of that. He was talking to me, from inside that box. Oh God.

_John_

How many hours have passed? How much time do I have left? I don't know. Sherlock. Don't fail me now. Please. Oh shut up John. Shut up. And don't you dare cry. What are you? A baby? No. You're a soldier. A scared soldier. John. What? What did you do in Afghanistan when you were scared? I pushed the fear back, gritted my teeth and let my bullets fly. But I'm not in Afghanistan, I'm in a concrete box, with no way out. Sherlock is going to find you. Grit your teeth and focus on happy thoughts okay? You're going to make it through this. Am I? You are.

_Sherlock_

_1 hour_

One hour, one hour to try and save him. Can I do it? Yes of course you can. I circle the concrete box, there has to be a way for Jim to have gotten him in there. The top of course. I hope to God that John knows Morse code.

_John_

What the HELL! Someone found me? They're tapping on the side of the box! Why don't they let me out? SHUT UP JOHN! LISTEN!

Three shorts. Pause. Three longs. S-O so what? Short long short. Pause. Short long short. R-R. Wait. One more letter. Long short long long. S-O-R-R-Y. Sorry for what?

_Sherlock_

_30 minutes_

With one heave I push the box over. Have to reach the top, therefore, I need to bring the top to the ground. Sorry John.

"Sorry John. Forgive me."

"Never." comes the muffled reply. I smile. John. That's John all over. I circle to the top of the box.

_John_

Should have known he was going to push me over. There is a noise above my head and the top of the box comes off. I'm on my side so I tilt my head to get a good look at Sherlock, screwing my eyes up as the light starts to make them smart and sting.

"Took you long enough." Nothing can describe the happiness I feel as my eyes adjust and Sherlock stands there smiling at me.

_Sherlock_

_5 minutes_

"Better crawl on out of there. John."

"No argument from me."

"It's just. According to my calculation, you've got five minutes before that box blows itself apart." John starts and tries to wiggle from the box. Oh thank God I found him in time. Thank God.

"You're going to have to help me." He holds his hands out, his wrists are raw and the skin is broken and jagged. Bleeding. Moriarty is going to pay. With his life. I grip John's hands and start to pull him out. He stands, smiles and then nearly topples over. "Sherlock. I can't feel my bloody legs." I check my watch, _2 minutes. _Bugger. Helping John up I throw one of his arms over my shoulder and we start to make our way as quickly as possible from that wretched box. Not quick enough. I look behind me as the box explodes, sending concrete and fire in every direction. The flames hit us square in the back and I shout as it forces us to the ground, making us fly through the air. John is ripped away from me, and the world grows black.


	19. Holmecide Part 4

_Sherlock_

I can't bloody see. Why can't I see? Oh Hell! I must be dead. I've died. Typical. I've died. I'm floating, just a stream of conscience. No need for sight, hearing, taste, touch, smell. But I can smell. And hear. Everything is muffled, but I can hear. I can smell, taste. I can't see. Am I blind. Shut up Sherlock. Maybe if you listened you would know where you are! Right. Good advice. Now take it. I lay as still as possible, sniffing the air. Disinfectant, the perfume of a woman standing next to me, blood. Oh God. Hospital. Has to be.

"He's going to be fine. From what I can gather, he protected you from the blast very well."

"It's only natural though. He is much bigger then me." John. It's John's voice. What happened Sherlock? Put it all together. Right. You save John and the bomb went off anyway. You tried to shield John, it worked, for the most part and then he got torn away in the blast. He's not dead, and neither are you. So at least that's good.

"I don't know how long he'll be sedated."

"It's alright. I'd just like to be here when he gets up."

"You'll have to tell him." What the Hell are they talking about? Tell me what.

"I know." Why does John sound upset? "I just wish I knew how he will react." There is some shifting,

"I know doctor, I know." Time to intervene I think.

"John." I try to reach out but end up knocking something over. It falls to the floor. "John?" The man starts next to me,

"Sherlock! You're awake."

"Why does my mouth feel dry?" I feel a glass being pressed to my lips and cool water flows into my parched mouth. Relief. I hold my hand up to alert him to stop. He reacts quickly, pulling the glass away.

"Better?"  
"Much. Now what do you have to tell me?" John shifts beside me. Oh God. It must be bad. "No, wait, before you tell me, why can't I see?" He shifts uncomfortably again,

"That's the thing Sherlock."

"Oh Hell. Just tell me already. You're sweating." John grips my hand.

"Sherlock. Um-"

"Get on with it!"

"You're blind." I sit up. No, that's not right.

"Stop it John, that's not funny!" I try to touch my eyes, bandages. I can't see, and now I know why.

"Sherlock. I wish I was joking. Something is wrong with your eyes."

"Well thanks for the update. As if I couldn't work that out myself."

"I'm sorry Sherlock."

"Shut up." I'm thinking. How can I fix this? I can't be blind. I use my eyes for everything. They are the most useful thing next to my brain. It's how I find everything out. Everything. I feel John's hand on my shoulder,

"I'm sorry Sherlock."

"Does Mycroft know?"

"About your eyes?"

"Obviously."

"Not that I am aware. He came by and saw you. Talked to the nurses, but they never said anything about your eyes."

"Well he'll find out soon enough." Oh God. This is awful. Why me! Why?

"Sherlock, are you alright?"

"Me? Yeah I'm fine. What about you?"

"A few scrapes and bruises, but other then that, nothing. Nothing much."

"Good. Good."

"It's all thanks to you." At least he's grateful. At least he's okay.

"Good."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." I'm not okay. I'm not okay at all. John. I can't see! I can't do anything now. John! Help me! I'm helpless! I can't do anything. Oh God. "John?"

"What Sherlock?"

"Will you do me a favor?"

"What is it Sherlock."

"Will you shoot me please?" Please, just do it. I can't live like this. Not without my sight.

"Sherlock, you had better be joking." He sounds hurt. I grab for his lapels, I have to make him understand,

"JOHN! Shut up and listen to me. Without my sight, I'm nothing. I can't function. I would rather be dead. I would rather be dead. Do you understand?" He puts his hands over mine, brushing them off his shirt.

"Sherlock, listen. You just have to work through this. You just have to deal." I sit back heavily. He doesn't understand. No one ever does.

"John, can I feel?"

"What?"

"Can I feel my eyes? Will you take my bandage off so I can feel?" I feel him sigh,

"Sherlock, I'm not sure that's a good idea..."

"John. Please. If you won't put me out of my misery, at least give me something interesting." He sighs again before leaning over me and fumbling with my head and bandages. I feel them fall away from my face, I still can't see. Oh God. I hear John take a sharp breath. Oh God. It must be bad. Gingerly I start to feel my face, scar tissue and it hurts. It stings. Oh God. There are my eyes. I can't see.

"Sherlock, are you okay? Be honest." He wants me to tell the truth.

"No."

"I'm sorry." He puts a hand on my shoulder and I shrug him off.

"It's not your fault."

"It might be."

"It's not. I can't bloody see anything. And I can't function. I can't- I can't do anything. I'm useless and it's just horrible. I can't see. I can't work. My brain is going to rot. I'm going to waste away."

"Sherlock. There is something I should probably tell you."

"If it's that I'm a lost cause, don't bother. I already know."

"No Sherlock. You might actually be able to get your sight back." I sit up again. Seriously? I could get my sight back?

"Why didn't you mention this earlier!"

"I don't know Sherlock! You never gave me time to talk!"

"When will I get my sight back!"

"I don't know Sherlock. I don't know."

"Oh thank God! John! You're a life saver! When can we go back to the flat? I want to talk with Yorik." John laughs,

"Sherlock you still can't see."

"SO?"

"So how will you maneuver around the flat!"

"I know the flat. I know EVERY inch of the flat. How many stairs are there?"

"I don't know!"

"Eleven total. Eight, then you turn to your left and head up another four. Easy. I have memorized the flat to the last detail."

"Are you sure Sherlock?"

"I just want to get my sight back John. That's all I want."

"Yeah."

"I guess you can't take anything for granted."

"No you can't."

"When can we get out of here?"

"I'll call the nurse." He stands up, "And Sherlock?"

"What John?"

"Thank you?"

"For what?"

"Saving me."

"Of course. It was my pleasure." He starts to leave, "And for the record, I wasn't having fun." I smile a little, knowing he can see it, even if I can't see that he's smiling too. Until I get my sight back, life is going to be a living Hell for the doctor, but he'll put up with it. It's his way. He'll cope, just like it's my way.

_John_

Thank God Sherlock's going to get his sight back. I don't know if I can deal with him being stupid, bored, and lazy forever. Thank God he's alright. He would have died. I would have died. Thank God for Sherlock Holmes. Once we get our feet back on the ground, and once we get settled, Sherlock'll only have one goal. Get back at Moriarty. He's going to get that son of a bitch until he bleeds from his eyes. Sherlock will do it, because Sherlock cares. Even if he acts like he doesn't, he cares. Thank God for that. My wrists have been fixed for the most part, for the most part. And I am ready to take on a cranky, grumpy Sherlock. Thank God. Thank God for Sherlock Holmes.

* * *

_I think this is how I will leave it. I did leave it open so I could do a Part five in which we get a glimpse of a Sherlock Holmes who is blind, grumpy, and bitter. In part five I would probably give him his sight back. _

_I would like reviews on this, as well as if I should make a five parter, or not. Thanks so much for reading, and reviewing, keep up the good work. _

_Please review, I'm anxious for this one. First multipart fic that I've done in this set. _

_Thanks so much for reading._

_Until Gallifrey is free,_

_Time Lord Victorious  
_


	20. Holmecide Part 5

_Author's Note: This chapter is extremely long. I also think it's scatterbrained, unrealistic, and moves extremely fast. I'd like opinions on this one. It would make me really happy. No, seriously. You guys are brilliant, love you all, and good luck with the story below._

_Until Gallifrey is free,_

_Time Lord Victorious _

_Sherlock_

_1 day after the explosion_

"John, when you said I will get my sight back, when did that mean?" He sighs,

"How many times Sherlock?"

"Until I can see."

"I don't know. Eyes are delicate things." I sigh. Again. He obviously doesn't want me to get better. I lean back on the couch, feeling for the pillow. Not there. John must have taken it.

"John. Did you take my pillow?"

"It's not yours Sherlock."

"I was using it."

"No you weren't." I sigh loudly again. Jerk. He sounds so tired too. Poor sod. Inside I smile. He knew what he was signing up for. He could have left me in the hospital. He has too big of a heart. I stand up, feeling bored, I can't get on the computer, or watch TV. I can't see. Sighing some more I maneuver myself around my boxes of things toward the kitchen. I run into a box, stubbing my toe pretty bad.

"JOHN!" I bellow. He's moved my boxes.

"What Sherlock?"

"You've moved a box in my way. Which way? Left of right?" I hear him move in his chair to look at me,

"Left two steps and then straight. Almost there." I nod and follow his instructions. Good old John.

"John."

"What?"

"I want to go out."

"You can't see."

"I know, I'm just sick of being bored and caught up in the flat." He sighs before getting up and putting his coat on.

"You'll have to hold on to me Sherlock. We don't want you getting lost."

"Not at all." He helps me with my coat and I flounce down the stairs. This is going to be fun. See how well I know London.

"Sherlock, wait up." I pause at the door and turn back toward the stairs. The last stair squeaks and I open the door. He holds his arm out for me, and grudgingly I grip his elbow as he leads me out, closing the door behind him.

"This is childish."

"You're blind Sherlock."

"I know London like the back of my hand."

"Which you can't see."

"Good point..." He leads me down a street and hails a cab. He covers my ears as he whispers a destination into the cabby's ear. He stuffs me inside the cab and off we go. I hate being blind. It sucks so bad. But for John's sake, I try to make it seem like I'm happy, like I don't care. Like maybe tomorrow I'll wake up and look in the mirror at the scars on my face. John said most of them will go away, but some of them will be there forever. They might fade, but they'll always be there. I've always wanted a scar on my face. It adds character I think. I just wish I could see it. I sigh and John turns toward me,

"Are you okay?"

"What?"

"You. Are you alright?"

"Yeah." The cab stops. John helps me out of the cab,

"Where are we?" I smile. Too easy.

"Bart's, obvious." He laughs as I take his arm again. He leads me into the building,

"Thought this might cheer you up. You've been moping. Again."

"What? Me? Moping. As if." John laughs,

"Oh you might try to fool me, but really? It doesn't work Sherlock. You aren't happy. I can tell. The way you groan all day and get angry at the silliest things. Really Sherlock, you might think you're clever, but sometimes you are really careless. You aren't sleeping in your own bed anymore, you're camping out on the couch, and you talk to Yorik more then me now. You're obviously peeved about not being able to see." I sigh, I underestimated him. Don't do that Sherlock, bad news.

"Right, so maybe I am a little pissed at not being able to see, but still, I was doing good."

"Not really." He holds the door for me and I enter the lab.

"John, why did you bring me here? I can't see anything."

"Sherlock?" Molly. Shit. Now I know why John brought me here.

"Hello Molly."

"Are you alright?" She touches my arm and I flinch. Where did she come from. I don't like this, not one bit.

"No."

"I'm sorry Sherlock. Do you want to talk about it?" John laughs behind me, obviously he finds this funny. It's not. Not one bit.

"No Molly. There's nothing talking can do for it. I just hope the doctor over there knows what he's talking about when he said I'd get my sight back." The door behind me opens and John nearly jumps a foot behind me.

Hissing in my ear, "Sherlock." John whips me around.

"What?" Molly brushes past me,

"Jim! Hi!" I back pedal,

"John! Get me out, now." Molly turns, I can hear her feet on the ground, twisting to face me.

"Sherlock? What's wrong? It's only Jim." I'm at a loss for words, only Jim? Only Jim? Does this child know nothing about James Moriarty?

"John, what do I do?" I hiss quietly in his ear. He shakes his head and I feel a hand on my shoulder, not John's. Oh God. "What do you want?"

"You really are blind." His fake voice, fake Jim. Not Moriarty, Jim from I.T.

"Whatever you're doing stop it now." He drops his hand to his side,

"Wow. I'm sorry mate." Fake Jim, I have to pretend he's not Moriarty. For Molly's sake.

"Not exactly your fault is it?" A message. He nudges me, message received. Bastard.

"I heard about what happened to John. A concrete box. Wow. That's intense." John flinches next to me and Molly joins Jim, clutching his arm.

"I'm so sorry Sherlock. I'm sure you'll catch whoever did this to you." I nod,

"And believe me, when I do, he's going to pay in blood. A lot of it." Jim laughs, almost involuntarily and I can almost see Molly shooting him a look of confusion.

"Don't be too dramatic Sherlock." Oh God. How dull.

"Yes thank you Jim. John, would you be so kind as to take me away from this place. All I want to do is go back to the flat." John nods and leads me past Jim and Molly. Molly stumbles up behind me and taps my shoulder. Slowly I turn to face her, even if I can't see her.

"Do you want a coffee or anything Sherlock?" She sounds so hopeful. Wants me to stay here doesn't she?

"Black, two sugars, but only a small one." She nods and dashes out of the room. Oh God. Jim's still here. Moriarty is still here. He saunters up to me and John tenses behind me.

"I didn't mean to Sherlock. Really I didn't. You got in my way is all. I see you found your pet. How does it feel Sherlock? How does it feel to be helpless?" It sucks.

"Not too bad, because, actually, I'm not helpless, I'm just a little bit handicapped." Moriarty laughs and touches my face, I flinch backwards. Not being able to see is bad. Bad bad bad when Moriarty's around. He doesn't remove his fingers, and touches my scars, running his fingertips over them, "Stop it." He laughs again.

"Sorry Sherlock, I had no idea."

"Yes you did."

"Yeah I did. But now you see," he chuckles at his joke, "You can't do anything to me."

"Not right now, no. But soon, _JIM,_ soon. You won't see the light of day again. You attack my friends, I push back hard, really hard. Most don't come back from that. Just ask-" He cuts me off,

"You going to let me bully you?"

"There's nothing I can do about it. And you aren't bullying, you're... gloating." He laughs and pokes at my eye, "Stop it."

"You know Sherlock, had I known you would go and get blind, I would never have stolen old Johnny boy. You're not nearly as much fun now. Bori-" He stops himself as Molly comes back with coffee for me.

"Thank you Molly." I say graciously as she pushes the mug into my hands. Jim backs off and I shoot him a sly smile behind Molly's back. He makes a face back. The coffee is black, and hot, and just how I like it, but, I'm not in the mood. I take a sip right as my phone goes off. Automatically, I reach into my pocket and answer, "Sherlock Holmes." It's Lestrade. He wants me to take a look at a case for him. I can't. Lestrade, don't you know I'm blind? "Sorry Lestrade. I'm busy."

"Busy doing what?"

"I can't see, detective inspector." Idiot. John grips my shoulder, trying to comfort me, "I'm blind." I can almost see Lestrade's jaw hit the floor. "I have been for two days now. Where have you been?"

"Where are you now? You aren't at the flat, we've been up there."

"It must be serious. I'm at Bart's why?"

"It's this case Sherlock."

"I can't help you." I hang up and stuff my phone in my pocket again. "I don't feel so good." I manage to croak out before falling to the floor.

_John_

Jim and Molly both look surprised. I mean it's not Sherlock's way to faint. Really. It must be the stress, that could be it. Or maybe the fact that being blind is starting to grow old. I think he tries to hide how he feels, but last night, I caught him. He was trying really hard not to cry, really hard. He was trying to fix something, but he had it all backwards and he couldn't see and he was frustrated, angry, and sad. I feel bad that I hadn't said anything, and just let him struggle with his emotions, but I don't want to get murdered in my sleep. Poor sod.

"Sorry guys, I guess Sherlock's had enough for today. I'll just take him home now. Molly, Jim." I nod at them as I try and gather Sherlock in my arms. He really should eat more. Jim leans down and tries to help, stuffing something into Sherlock's pocket and then backing off when I hiss at him.

"Well, I best be off. By Molly, John. Hope Sherlock gets better soon." He leaves as I stand up,

"Bye Molly, thanks for the coffee."

"Do you think he'll be alright?"

"I think so." I hope so. I make my way out of Bart's and hail a cab home. The cabby shoots me a look but says nothing as I try to put Sherlock into the back of the cab as gently as I could . The drive to the flat is a silent one, mostly because Sherlock was unconscious, but partly because I'm brooding. Poor Sherlock. I wish I could help him out with something or other. He's to damn proud to accept any kind of help though. He stirs next to me and I look over at him. He opens his sightless eyes,

"Where the Hell am I John? Wait. Don't tell me. We're in a cab. Did I faint?" I chuckle,

"Sherlock."

"What?"

"I think you need some honest sleep. You haven't slept since the explosion. Trust me, I know. I come downstairs, you might be laying on the couch, but you aren't asleep. I can tell. I am a doctor you know." He sighs and sits up.

"John. Make me better."

"What?"

"Make me see again."

"Sherlock I know it's hard for you, you can't see, you can't do your work, you're blind." He sucks in a fast breath of air. Touchy subject then. "Sorry."

"No, it's fine." He jumps out of the cab and takes the steps two at a time, as usual, throwing himself onto the couch, face to the pillows. Oh God. Another breakdown. He might actually break down now. Might actually cry. I can't deal with that. Not today.

_Sherlock_

Oh God. What am I going to do? I can't function. I'm useless, boring. I'm not even a person anymore. I can't move about without help, I'm crippled. Moriarty's won. I- I feel a hand on my shoulder and turn to look, only I can't see. I nearly cry. Why is life so difficult. What did I ever do to deserve something so horrible as this. I blink hard. It's John, he understands. I sit up and make room for him on the couch.

"John, when you got shot and you couldn't fight anymore, how did you feel?" John sits down next to me,

"I felt like someone should shoot me, put me out of my misery. I felt like I should go back and gun down that bastard that shot me, but I couldn't. Those doctor's understood, they couldn't let me leave. I felt like I should avenge my friends, like I should die at the same time. It was confusing."

"Ah. You understand then."

"And you understand why I can't." I nod. He knows what I was going to ask, and he can't.

"I'm sorry John."

"I'm sorry too Sherlock." I blink again. Why are my eyelids so heavy. Oh. That clever clever boy.

"Thanks John." I slur before my head hits the pillow. How had he managed that?

_John_

Finally, after hours of trying to trick him into taking some sort of sleeping pill, I'd managed it with Molly. I sent her a text, she pulled through. She cares about Sherlock, she wants him to get better. Thank goodness she actually listened to me. I sigh and get a blanket from Sherlock's bed, throwing it over him as he slept. Maybe when he gets up, he'll be happier. Maybe he'll be able to see. I doubt it, but maybe. I sit down in my usual chair, suddenly exhausted. I could use a nap myself. Don't do it John, don't close your eyes, you want to be awake when he gets up. No I don't... I just want... to... WAKE UP... Too late.

_Sherlock_

_Several hours later_

That clever clever boy. Text Molly ahead of time, make her do that. Oh that was clever. I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling. It hasn't changed a bit. Every single thing is in it's- Wait... I can see? I sit up, watching the flat come into focus. Oh yes! There's John, dozing in his chair. I CAN SEE!

"JOHN!" I shout, he'll hear me. He starts in his chair,

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong today my friend!" I stand up and pull him to his feet, hugging him tightly, "I CAN SEE AGAIN!"

"That's brilliant!"

"I know! I want to look now!" I dash off to the bathroom, mirror. Wow. That looks pretty bad. I study the lines on my face, the grooves, I shouldn't have been looking at the explosion when it happened. I touch my face curiously. What's wrong with this? Interesting. John comes up behind me, smiling.

"Glad you finally can see Sherlock. Honestly, do you know how hard you are when it comes to reasoning?"

"Yes indeed my friend. I can see though." I straighten my jacket and pull out my phone, Lestrade, time to inform him.

"What are you doing?"

"Calling Lestrade, no time to sit here and be all happy when someone's died and Lestrade needs my help!" This is brilliant. I'll never take anything for granted again. Or Moriarty. Especially Moriarty. He's worse then I could ever have imagined. Lethal. And if I don't watch out, I'm going to get burned. Even more.


	21. Pneumonia

_Sherlock Age: 24_

Mycroft paces back and forth. Why does he always show up when I least want him to? Because he's a git, that's why. I lean back in my chair and run my bow over the violin strings. The noise produced makes him flinch. I smile slyly.

"Sherlock. I really do need your help."

"How cliché Mycroft. When do you ever _not_ need my help." He frowns at me,

"When I don't."

"Very nice." He sighs.

"Are you going to listen or not?"

"I'm going to say, NO, but you're going to tell me anyway I suspect."

"Glad we have an understanding."

"Is it?"

"Now listen-" I cut him off with more horrible noises from the violin on my shoulder. Mycroft frowns again, "As I was saying-"

"Don't bother."

"What?" I get up, I'm not feeling good. I don't want to do anything today. I think I might have overworked myself. Maybe a nice nap. Yeah. That sounds... Horrible actually. What's wrong with you Sherlock? I head to the kitchen of my small flat,

"Don't bother telling me anything. I don't want to leave the flat today. I'm just going to stay here, with a blanket, and shout at the telly." I mumble mostly to myself before putting the kettle on. Something is off. Really off. Maybe it's my lungs. They don't feel fine at all. I start coughing. Stop it Sherlock. You can't get bloody sick! You're Sherlock Holmes. Mycroft puts his hand on my shoulder and I shrug him off, I don't need this.

"Sherlock, it's ninety degrees in here." I sit down on the floor,

"It feels like it's freezing." It's cold on the floor. I'm not feeling good at all. I can't breathe now. I cough, mucus. My head hurts so bad. I can't breathe. My lungs. Oh God. I think I might be dying. I look up at Mycroft who puts a hand on my shoulder,

"Are you okay?" I put my head in my hands, I don't feel fine, say it though Sherlock,

"I'm fine, just feeling a bit off. Leave now?" He sighs and starts for the door. The kettle whistles and I stand up. He turns to look at me,

"Call me if anything happens?" I snort, as if. I don't need him. I head for the kitchen, feeling the Earth tilt. I stumble. What the Hell? What's happening? The floor comes up to greet me, and before I know what's happening, Mycroft is leaning over me, looking concerned. I can't say anything. My ears are pounding and I can't feel anything. He places a hand over my forehead, looks scared and then calls an ambulance. Great. Just what I need right now. My eyes start to close, I try to keep them open, it doesn't work so well, and suddenly I'm drifting further and further away, into a blackness.

_Mycroft_

Oh Hell. What's he done now? Poisoned himself? Unlikely, he cares about himself too much for that kind of nonsense. Did he catch something then? More then likely. His temperature is over one hundred. I study his pale face, which seems to be paler, if that is even possible. Something had seemed off, from the moment I step foot in the flat. Something is going around, but Sherlock never leaves the flat, how could he catch something like that. Maybe it was the case he was on, but still.

"Is he going to be okay?" I ask the nurse next to me, she smiles, as if trying to assure me everything is okay. It's not. I can tell. The smile's a fake, it doesn't fill her smile lines at all. It's tight lipped and anxious.

"He'll be okay, once we get the vaccine in him, he should be alright."

"Do you know what he has?"

"It looks like a mild case of pneumonia."

"_Mild_?"

"He hasn't died yet has he? It's good you called when you did." I rub my face with my hands, just my luck. I'm going to have to pay the bill aren't I? Cheeky bugger.

_Sherlock_

I wake slowly, like when you come out of the pool. The pressures change, and the light gets brighter and then your face breaks the surface. And suddenly you can breathe again. I take a deep breath before opening my eyes. Someone has my hand. Mycroft no doubt. He dropped it as soon as I took that breath.

"Feeling any better princess?" He asks mockingly, "Cause you sure don't look it." I smack at him, but my movements are slow and miscalculated. They sedated me. WHY! "You've been sedated, genius."

"Why?" I croak. My throat hurts, I still can't breathe very well.

"Because I know you, and you won't do as they say, you won't get better."

"I'm sick?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

"What have I got?" He pauses, unsure of whether or not he should tell me. Finally he gives in,

"Pneumonia. They said it's a mild case though, so you should be out in a week or two." I sigh. This isn't good. I was on a case! Why does this have to happen to me now? That's so boring!

"What am I bloody going to do for a whole week?" He smiles,

"You're in a hospital. Think of something." He gets up to leave, "And don't look at the nurses too hard. Don't want you to magically get sick again do we?" I shake my head. "You're lucky I was there."

"Thanks Mycroft."

"Welcome."

"I still hate you though."

"I know." I sit back again as my brother pulls the door to my ward shut. Bored. What did he say about observing the nurses?


	22. A Piece of the Past

_Sherlock_

"Tell me about your past." That's the third time today John's asked me to share. Each time it's accompanied by him sharing something from his past. I shake my head,

"You don't want to hear about it John."

"Yes I do." He's smiling. He must think that it was brilliant to be me as a kid. It really isn't. I grew up in a messed up family. One he probably doesn't want to hear. Why he keeps asking me is lost on me. I study his face, he is genuinely eager. He actually wants to know. I really don't feel in the mood for sympathy. I could just make something up. What's the point of that though, he always knows when I'm lying.

"You are serious about this aren't you?"

He nods, "I'm not going to drop it either. Tell me about what you did when you were sixteen." I sigh. So not worth it. Don't want to share anything right now. Why does John feel the need to go all girl on me? It's not polite in the least. Why can't people just think? John nudges me, as if to coax me into telling a story. I blink hard before saying something I know I'll regret.

"At sixteen, I ran away from home." John looks at me,

"You did?"

"Life was Hell back then." He snorts. He obviously doesn't understand.

"What made it so bad?"

"First of all, Mycroft left." His jaw drops,

"I thought you hated him."

"I do. But it wasn't always like that."

"It wasn't?"

"Obviously."

"Will you tell me that story?" I study his face, he's curious. Of course he is.

"It's not pleasant."

"I don't care."

"I want no pity." He nods. I sit back and think a moment, reminiscing.

"_SHIT!" I cry out as I try to regain my footing, almost in vain. I glance over my shoulder before walking as quickly as I dared down the street, careful of the ice. A shout. I turn only to see Mycroft go flying across the ice. I don't have time to react, he comes straight for me, knocking my legs out from under me. I fall with a loud crack on the ice, hitting my nose and feeling a crunch. Warm blood oozes from my nose and down my face, I can taste it on my lips, see it turning orange on the ice. "SHIT MYCROFT! WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?" I shout as I again try to find my footing on the slick, smooth surface. Furiously I wipe at my nose, there is going to be a bruise tomorrow morning, at least it's not broken. Mycroft falls back against the ice, going limp, his eyes are closed, something is wrong, something isn't right. Blood still flowing from my nose I slide over to him, he doesn't wake when I shake him, he's hit his head. Oh God. There's a bruise, blood. Shit. I pull him onto my lap before checking his pulse, faint, but there. Oh God. Oh God. Someone, anyone, help me! "ANYONE? HELP!" I call out, my voice shaking and rebounding against the houses. I lean over him and start to talk to him, even though I know he can't hear me, "Mycroft, oh God. Mycroft, you have to wake up now. You can't just... No you can't just die right here." I can feel his blood soaking through my pant leg, "Mycroft, oh God. Shit. We're going to get you some help, somewhere. Oh God. This is all my fault, if I hadn't pissed you off you wouldn't have been chasing me out of the house. Oh God. What if you can never forgive me? What if you're going to be different forever. Oh God," I raise my head and call out again, "SOMEONE! COME HELP ME HERE!" Tears are falling down my cheeks, mixing with my blood. I wipe my nose again before succumbing to the noisy sobs that I swore no one would ever witness. "Oh God." I moaned, feeling like if he died right now it would be all my fault, I would have killed the only person who cared about me right now. Mummy would never forgive me. I had worked so hard to put any feeling, any form of caring for anyone, away, in a box, out of sight forever. Now when something __like this happens they feel the need to come out and make me look and feel like a fool. I wipe my eyes before sticking my hand in my jacket pocket to get my phone I steady my voice before dialing nine-nine-nine. The ambulance arrives ten minutes later and ask for details that I am unwilling to give. I stand up as they take my brother to the hospital and I go into the house. I pack a couple of bags and leave a note to Mycroft telling him where I've gone. Letting him know how sorry I am for getting him hurt and how I don't feel like it's safe anymore for me to be around him. I leave and start to look for somewhere to live when my phone buzzes,_

_I'm sorry Sherlock._

_MH_

_I sigh, of course, after only a couple hours after I leave he wants me back, typical, _

_I know._

_SH_

_Come home?_

_MH_

_Sorry brother. _

_I can't._

_SH_

_What are you going to do?_

_MH_

_I'll think of something._

_SH_

_I never want to see his face again._

Okay. I think I know how I want to tell this story. He leans forward,

"Have you decided?" I nod. "Begin."

"When I was younger I used to live with my brother. Granted, I never actually liked him, tolerated him maybe, but we never really got on well. Anyway, I lived with him until I could get my life back in order. One day I managed to piss him off pretty badly. It was icy out, the pavement was cased in it. Mycroft was chasing me around the house, trying to get back at me for resetting all his clocks. I ran out the front door and nearly slid into the road. Anyone would. Mycroft was no exception. Except he knocked me down as he shot out of the house, hit his head pretty bad. I think he might have died."

"And you don't like him because of that?"

"When I was sixteen Mycroft went to University. Left me at home with mum and dad."

"Well that doesn't sound too bad." I raise an eyebrow. Obviously he wants to know more. Might as well, since I'm already sharing.

"Mum and dad fought all the time. Sometimes I thought that was why Mycroft left. Maybe it was. Father was abusive. Until the day he died there wasn't a time I didn't come out of the house without a new bruise. Mother didn't understand, and I didn't want to tell her, it would only worry her. So I put up with the beatings, the fighting, the backhanding until I ran away. I couldn't handle a dysfunctional family any more. I went to Uni after that. That's how I met Sebastian." John is quiet, he hasn't moved since I spilled the beans on my dad. Obviously he's feeling pity, even though he promised. "Mycroft payed my way through college, not that I was too happy about it, but I was grateful enough until the headmaster was stupid enough to kick me out." John still hasn't said anything. I hope I'm not upsetting him too much. "He thought I set the lab on fire, which I didn't, I'll have you know. Worst Christmas I ever had was the one where Mycroft forced me to get clean. If I didn't manage, he was going to throw me into the streets. I wouldn't put it past him to do that."

_The Hospital_

_Sherlock Age: 17_

_Father is ill. He's dying I think. Not that I mind too much, but still. I don't think anyone is too happy when their parents die. Mum has been at his bedside for hours, holding his hand. After all the horrible things he's said to her, she still loves him. I still haven't shown her the bruises, I don't think she'd listen if I told her anyway. No. She loves him too much. His eyelids flutter and he mumbles quietly. Mum leans closer, trying to listen._

"_Sherlock, he wants you." I want to run and hide. I can't do this. Not right now. I go to stand by his bedside, even though I do it grudgingly._

"_Sherlock?" my father whispers, in a broken, hurt, guilty tone._

"_Yes father." He smiles a little,_

"_I'm sorry."_

"_No you're not."_

"_I'm dying."_

"_I know."_

"_Even though I was awful to you, I still love you."_

"_No you don't." I've heard enough. I turn and start to leave, but he grasps my arm, it's so frail, so fragile, so breakable. Not like my father at all. I turn to look at him,_

"_I do love you. Even if you don't want to admit it." He's wanting me to tell mother. He wants to come clean. He knows he only has hours left. Oh God. Maybe I did misjudge him. Is it possible? He pulls on the buttons of my shirt, "Rosanna, I want you to see what I did to your son. I want to die with a clean conscience." He pulls my shirt open and turns me to face her. Several scars, small ones albeit, litter my chest and ribs. There are still some bruises that haven't healed. I hadn't seen my father in months. And I still have bruises. She gasps in horror. She doesn't want to believe it._

"_Sherlock! Why didn't you tell me?"_

"_You didn't need to know." I button my shirt up and grab my coat. Time to leave before I make things worse._

"Sherlock?" I look up,

"Hm?"

"You've gone all quiet. Are you okay?"

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pried."

"The fault is mine, I gave in didn't I? I could have said no."

"I pressured you."

"Yes, and I let you."

"I'm sorry about your father."

"It's no problem."

"I know. But it hurts you doesn't it?"

"Not so much. The man was a bastard. Deserved to die if you ask me."

"That's harsh Sherlock."

"That's life John. Can we move on to happier subjects?" He smiles, he's made me uncomfortable and he knows it.

"Sure Sherlock. Whatever you want."


	23. Fear

"Do you believe in ghosts Sherlock?"

"They're illogical and cannot be explained."

"That's an no then."

"No. Do you?" John shifts in his chair and looks out the dark window.

"I believe there's something out there."

"Like what?"

"Something other worldly. Something we can't see."

"So you believe in ghosts and spirits."

"Yes."

"Good."

"What?"

"Nothing." The two men are quiet for a moment. The flat is silent. The two men are lost in their thoughts of ghosts. John sits up and looks at Sherlock,

"Tell me a story?"

"What?"

"You heard me, tell me a story."

"Like what?" Sherlock furrows his brow, confused. Is John seriously asking him to tell him a story?

"A scary one."

"You want me to tell you a scary story?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"I asked nicely."

"No you didn't."

"Please?" As soon as John said it he knew he would regret it. Sherlock smiles and sits back,

"Maybe."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means I know a good one, but you need to listen to me and do as I say if you want me to tell it."

John groans, "If you're going to order me to do stupid things I don't think it's worth it."

"Oh relax. I just need you to get my violin."

"Why?"

"More dramatic." John gets up to get the violin, "And while you're up, dim the lights. More interesting with just the fire light." John hits the switch and the room goes dark. He takes a seat and hands Sherlock his violin and bow. Sherlock smiles and runs the bow over the stings quickly. He rosins the bow and starts to play an eerie tune. It sends chills down John's spine. It reminds him of spiders, spinning silk. It's beautiful, yet scary. Sherlock smirks as he places the violin in his lap, resting his bow against the arm chair. "Are you ready?"

"No."

"Let's begin." Why did he ask Sherlock to tell this story. It was a bad idea. He hadn't thought Sherlock knew any to be honest. Or that he'd be willing to share.

"When you're ready." Sherlock puts his fingertips together and them under his chin before lowering his voice.

"Sometimes when you are alone, when it's dark, when you're wary, the hairs on the back of your neck rise. And goosebumps crop up on your arms. You might shiver a moment and then shrug it off, thinking it's nothing. Most of these types of feelings can be explained, a small breeze, a passing car. But sometimes, in the dark, in the cold, when you're alone, things happen. They can't be explained, and it scares people. Every species in the universe, in the world, has an irrational fear of the dark. Only it's not irrational at all. Not everyone comes out of the dark, not everyone makes it home at night. No one knows what it is, no one knows how to stop it. No one knows why they feel the need to have a little light at night, a little light forever. Parents laugh at their children when they need a nightlight, or a crack left open in the door, when inside, they feel like they can't go into the dark, like they won't make it back. They're a little bit afraid of what hides itself in the dark."

"So what hides itself in the dark?"

"No one's for sure. It's dark though, it lurks in the shadows. When you least expect it, it comes up behind you and grabs you. From the street, from your house. Not everyone makes it out of the dark. Do you want to be next John?" John froze,

"What do you mean?"

"Do you want to be next? Do you want to not come back?" John blinks. He seems just a little bit scared, a little bit.

"Will I?" Sherlock sits back and laughs,

"Of course not! That's completely ridiculous. It's only a story."

John raises an eyebrow, "You call that a story."

"Sort of."

"It was awful. I'm going to bed."

"Don't get taken." John smirks,

"Yeah right."

"Believe what you wish." He picks up his violin and starts to play the same tune, the one from before. Spiders and darkness. John looks at him and then goes upstairs to bed. Sherlock smiles knowingly as John comes back downstairs and flops on the couch. "Can't sleep?"

"Not a wink."

"I couldn't either."

"Is that why you never sleep?"

"Are you suggesting that I'm scared to sleep?"

"Maybe."

"Not even remotely."

"Whatever you say." Sherlock smirks again and starts to play another tune, soothing and smooth. Soon John's fast asleep. Sherlock stares at the fire most of the night, can't bring himself to sleep. He hasn't been able to do it for a while. When he does, it's usually an accident. His eyes close, he doesn't want to sleep. Can't afford it. Not now.


	24. The Past is the Past Leave it Behind

_Sherlock Age: 19_

"You don't understand _anything _Mycroft!"

"DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU'VE DONE SHERLOCK?" It's the third shouting match this week.

"Maybe I would if you weren't shouting at me!"

"You don't get it, do you?"

"HOW CAN I?"

"YOU ALMOST KILLED SOMEONE SHERLOCK!"

"I DIDN'T KNOW!" Mycroft stamps his foot and shakes a finger at me from across the table,

"YOU SHOULD HAVE!"

"HOW COULD I MYCROFT?"

"MAYBE IF YOU BLOODY PAYED ATTENTION YOU WOULD HAVE KNOWN!"

"BUT MYCROFT-"

"NO BUT'S SHERLOCK! YOU SHOULD HAVE BEEN LISTENING! I DON'T KNOW WHY I DO THIS ANYMORE! YOU HAVE PROVED TIME AND TIME AGAIN THAT YOU ARE NOT READY TO LISTEN, YOU ARE NOT READY TO DO WHAT IT TAKES. YOU HAVE PROVED THAT YOU CAN'T HANDLE IT."

"HE ALMOST KILLED ME MYCROFT!"

"AND YOU IN TURN NEARLY LET A VALUBLE EYEWITNESS DIE." I lower my voice dangerously,

"What do you really care about here Mycroft? Me? Or the case?" How the hell can he be blaming this on me? I only shot at him in self defense. How was I supposed to know that he was a major witness to a major crime? No one tells me these things, and Mycroft still drags me to them. Experience he says. I think he just wants to make me look like a fool. He's quiet a moment, as if trying to stop being angry, trying to calm down. It's not working though,

"WHY DO YOU THINK I'M SO UPSET SHERLOCK?" There he goes, shouting at me again. It makes my blood boil. I did nothing. Except maybe, almost, kill a man. He was trying to stab me though, so I don't know why. He's upset cause I nearly tipped his case over.

"BECAUSE YOU WANTED TO DO THIS YOURSELF! YOU KNOW IF YOU DIDN'T WANT MY HELP YOU DIDN'T HAVE TO BRING ME ON THE CASE! I AM JUST YOUR BROTHER AFTER ALL! NO ONE OF IMPORTANCE APPARENTLY. DO YOU KNOW WHY YOU BRING ME ON THOSE CASES?"

"WHY SHERLOCK! WHY DO I DO IT? BECAUSE I SURE AS HELL HAVE NO IDEA ANYMORE!"

"YOU BRING ME BECAUSE YOU NEED ME! YOU'RE TOO STUPID TO FIGURE IT OUT YOURSELF!"

"DON'T YOU DARE SAY THAT! THAT ISN'T TRUE!"

"WELL IF IT'S NOT TRUE, YOU COULD LEAVE ME HERE!"

"YOU'RE RIGHT! I SHOULD DO THAT! FROM NOW ON, I'M NOT BRINGING YOU ON ANYMORE CASES. THE ONLY REASON I BROUGHT YOU IN THE FIRST PLACE WAS BECAUSE I HAVE LEG WORK!"

"IT'S BECAUSE YOU'RE TOO LAZY FOR REAL DETECTIVE BUSINESS! THAT'S WHY YOU'RE INTO POLITICS NOW INSTEAD!" Mycroft makes a grab at me from across the table, digging his fingers into my arm,

"THAT ISN'T TRUE SHERLOCK!" I wrench my arm from his hand,

"DON'T TOUCH ME! I DON'T WANT YOUR FILTHY HANDS ON ME!"

"SHERLOCK!" He makes a move for me again, obviously still angry. He grabs my lapels and shoves me against the table. My back hits the hard corner, right in-between two vertebra. Oh God! That bloody hurt! "ARE YOU SERIOUS SHERLOCK? DO YOU NOT KNOW ANYTHING? ARE YOU THICK OR SOMETHING?"

"MYCROFT!" He shoves me into the table again, hitting the already burning place in my back, one more time.

"I MEAN WHAT THE HELL SHERLOCK? HOW COULD YOU EVEN SAY SOMETHING LIKE THAT?"

"MAYBE BECAUSE IT'S TRUE!" I brush his hands off my shirt and shove him back, I don't need this. Not right now.

"SHERLOCK! SHUT UP! YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT!" He shoves me, and I push back. Oh God. We're going to fight. I should have seen this coming.

"I DO KNOW! YOU SAY ALL SORTS OF THINGS, AND NONE OF THEM ARE TRUE!"

"YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT! So just leave it Sherlock. Leave it!" I can't just drop it. I just can't. I know I shouldn't, not when Mycroft's mad. When he's mad, he's lethal. I grab his shoulder and he spins, landing a punch on my cheek, sending me into the table again. I will not have this.

"No Mycroft. I didn't want this."

"What did you want Sherlock? HUH?" This time he slaps me, hard.

"You STOP!" I swing at him, but he might be smarter then me when it comes to fighting. He grabs my hand and rams it back into my face

_Present day_

"You ever been in a fight Sherlock?"

"Of course John."

"Fist fight?"

"Obviously." John furrows his brow,

"With who?"

"Would you like me to make a list?"

"If you don't mind"

"Recently, no one, I've been lying low a bit."

"Right cause you get into fights all the time."

"I do solve crime John."

"Yeah but-"

"I've fought with Lestrade before."

"No you haven't."

"Yes I have!"

"When?"

"He didn't believe me."

"What?"

"It was a while ago. We were on a case, I had the killer, knew where he was and everything. Lestrade didn't believe me. So we fought."

"You had a brawl with a law enforcer?"

"He didn't say anything about it, we never speak about it."

"I don't think I count that Sherlock."

"Mycroft."

"Everyone fights with their siblings."

"Has Harry given you any nasty looking scars?"

"What?"

"Has she given you any scars?"

"Mycroft's given you a scar?" Sherlock unbuttons his shirt and takes his right arm out it's sleeve, showing John his right shoulder. It's dotted with lighter skin, like a glass broke on it. "What the Hell happened Sherlock?"

"We got in a fight. We were fighting in the kitchen. Obviously, Mycroft is much larger then me, especially when I was a teenager, young adult. He also knew how to fight better then me. He threw me into an open cupboard and-"

"He _threw you into a cupboard_?"

"Yes, and a drinking glass shattered because my shoulder blade was thrust into it so hard."

_The fight continues_

Mycroft wraps his arms around me and lifts me off the ground. I, uselessly, beat against his back and flail my legs, trying to get him to loosen his grip. Without a sound he rams me onto the counter and then into an open cupboard. My right shoulder explodes with pain as a glass that was behind me shatters against my shoulder. Mycroft doesn't seem to notice. He doesn't seem to really be thinking anymore. Must be in the zone. But oh _God_! My shoulder hurts. He slides me across the counter and I hit my head on the edge as he brings me down. Oh, that didn't feel good. I don't think I have enough energy to fight back anymore. I lay limply against the counter, my head and shoulder throbbing while he continues to whoop my arse. He grabs my lapels again and shoves me against the counter. This time though, I'm not as lucky. My head cracks the cheap wood of one of the cupboards above me and my vision starts to turn black. Time to end this.

"Mycroft..." I manage to whisper brokenly, from my cracked lips, before I succumb to the darkness."

_Present day_

"What happened then Sherlock?"

"He knocked me about a bit more, managed to knock me out. Next thing I know, I wake up in a hospital, too doped up on sedatives to even say anything. Mycroft did come to see me, but we never spoke of the incident."

"Oh."

"So. Do you believe me now?" Sherlock asks as he buttons his shirt up again.

"Bit more violence then I thought, but yeah."

"Good. Can we move on now?"

"What, don't like to talk about violence?"

"Not that, just don't like talking about my brother."

"I've got plenty of stories on my sister. Even more about the war."

"I'm sure you do, but I don't think now's the time to share. After all we do have a case."

"We do?"

"As of now we do."

"What?"

"A young woman was found by her brother, stabbed in the back in her flat. The door and windows had been locked all night. No one saw anyone go in, or out of the flat and no one heard anything. Right up my street. Now are you coming or are you going to sit there and be sentimental?" Sherlock got up and wrapped his scarf around his neck before slipping his coat on.

"Oh I couldn't resist." Sherlock smiles.

"I know you couldn't. The game, doctor Watson, is on."


	25. Dancing By

_John's Blog_

I must admit, I've never seen Sherlock dancing. I mean to say, I hadn't. This morning, I left to go to work, but I accidentally left my keys in the flat. I had made it about halfway to work when I realized my mistake and told the cabby to take me back home because I was stupid enough to forget my keys in the flat. The cabby was pretty good humored about it, even shared a story about when he had left his own keys in his house, and when he went back, his wife gave him some breakfast and a kiss. Obviously, I wasn't expecting that when I got back to the flat, but I can guarantee, I wasn't expecting to see Sherlock, dancing, when I got home either. I had just pushed open the door to the flat as was about to ask Sherlock to toss me my keys when he danced past the door. That stopped me cold, and that's when I noticed the music drifting in from the kitchens. It was extremely loud, and I was surprised I hadn't noticed it before. The funny thing was I never really thought Sherlock was the one to listen to music like The Beatles, but I suppose it shouldn't have surprised me too much. That man is just full of things that I don't know about him.

Anyway, he dances past, twisting his hips, shaking his head, raising his arms over his head, and singing, at the top of his lungs. Like a proper teenager. Obviously I was confused, but the image was hysterical. Imagine this, a tall, skinny, pale man, in suit pants and a button down (which was un-tucked and the top buttons were undone) with dark, curly hair, singing (he was actually on key, so that was a surprise) "I'm getting high with a little help from my friends! MMM! I'm gonna try with a little help from my friends! OH! I'm getting by with a little help from my friends!" and throwing his arms in the air, twisting his skinny hips, legs and arms to the music. It was hysterical. I obviously didn't want to ruin the moment and let him dance by and back into the kitchen. I don't think he saw me as I took my keys from the hook and he pretended to play the guitar to 'Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds'.

I don't think I will ever be privileged enough to see something to entertaining, or bizarre in my life again.

I can honestly say, living with Sherlock Holmes has opened my eyes to the world underneath the mainstream of everyday life. He never does anything normal.

In one of my earlier posts I was debating whether to get out while I still could, or befriend the strange and enigmatic man. I can now say that I am glad I ignored my gut instinct and forged an amazing friendship with this man. Even though at times he may make me want to murder him in his bed while he's sleeping, it's been loads of fun living with him. I'm never bored. Mycroft, Sherlock's brother, asked me once what living with Sherlock was like. He even supplied an adjective of what he thought it was like. He chose the word, hellish. At times, living with Sherlock, might be hellish, but more often then not, it's a laugh. Or it's dangerous. Or it's scary all together. Whatever the circumstances though, I'm going to stand by him through it, cause that's what I am. I'm a solider. And soldiers don't leave their friends behind.

I should be going home in an hour or two, maybe I'll confront Sherlock about his dancing habits, poke fun at him or something. But right now I've got some patients to see, Sarah's hounding me to get off the computer and use my abilities to help the poor people that are sick and afflicted. Sometimes I think this job might be a bit domestic for my taste.

* * *

_RIGHT! Hello everyone. Sorry about shirking yesterday. I went to a Sherlock themed birthday party for my friend who I nicknamed John. We ended up watching Sherlock season one and playing 'The Beatles Rockband' which is where the music came from. Before you ask, yes it was fun, but not as much fun as I had picturing Sherlock dancing about in the flat. I haven't done blog entries on this series yet, so here you are. John's blog. For the reference to an earlier blog post, you'll want to read 'Thoughts of Men' in my other series, "This Should Be Interesting". Hope you enjoyed this addition, and sorry about yesterday. I got busy. I think I'll give you guys another one today to make up for it, hows that sound? Good?_

_Until Gallifrey is free,_

_Time Lord Victorious  
_


	26. Fighting the System

_Mycroft Age: 17_

"Oh my God SHERLOCK!"

"Let me go Mycroft!"

"NO! Sit down! Sit down Sherlock, right now."

"What will you do to me then huh?" Sherlock angrily sits down, nearly kicking the table over in the process. Why does he feel the need to fight my authority? It doesn't make any sense, I'm the higher ranking officer, I'm in charge when mum and dad are out, really, he shouldn't be fighting the system so hard. What's wrong with him? Must be something mental. Maybe he's insane.

"Sherlock! Will you just listen to yourself? Mum and dad have gone out on a date, which they rarely do anymore, and you still want to burn down the house!"

"I'm not burning down the house, I'm doing an experiment!"

"You know how mum and dad feel about you doing experiments!"

"But Mycroft! YOU'RE MY BROTHER! You're supposed to be cooler then them!"

"And you're supposed to listen to me. I said no Sherlock." Sherlock grumbles,

"Why not?"

"Because I can make a list of how many things can go wrong."

"Name them."

"You'll burn down the house, you'll stink up the house, you'll break another glass vial, you'll stain the carpet, you'll release poisonous gases into the air, you'll terrorize the cat, you'll leave a window open and make our bill go up for heating, you'll-" he cuts me off,

"No I won't MYCROFT!"

"Every single time I let you do some sort of experiment, one of those things happens. EVERY SINGLE TIME. I'm sick of getting into trouble for you! Have you noticed that I do that? I take the fall for you Sherlock, when usually, it's one of your idiotic plans that should get YOU into trouble. I'm sick of being your fall guy. Are we clear?" Sherlock looks like he's about to cry. Oh God. Maybe I was too harsh on him. I sometimes am. That's not good of me is it? "I SAID ARE WE CLEAR SHERLOCK?"

"YES!"

"Good! Now run along. I don't want you doing any experiments." He kicks his chair over as he stomps out of the kitchen. I sigh while I right it. That wasn't good. That was really bad. I almost slapped him. Look at me now, I'm shaking. I take a seat and put my head in my hands. He's trying to break me, and it might be working. Why does he have to be such a handful? Why do mum and dad have to leave when I'm not feeling up to keeping Sherlock out of trouble. I have homework I need to do. Things I need to finish, and Sherlock won't let me. He's too energetic for his own good. Too curious for his own good, and it tears me to pieces because I can't let him be himself. He's such a strange child, always has been. I don't think he likes me, that's why he treats me like dirt. Tramples on me. I sniff the air to make sure he hasn't done anything stupid yet. I know he's going to do that experiment anyway. Nothing yet. Good. Maybe he's letting me rest a bit until I'm ready to put up with him. A solitary tear leaks out of my eye. Why am I crying? He didn't do anything to me. He's just being a brat, that's nothing to cry over. Maybe it's because you aren't good enough Mycroft. Maybe he's acting out because he doesn't want to end up like you. You're spoiled, pompous, arrogant. You don't really pay attention to him unless you absolutely have to. It's one of those things Mycroft, you might need to change. But I don't want to change. I'm not really any of those things am I? Don't be ridiculous, of course you are. You get it from your bastard father too. Of course you are. Maybe it's time to change, make sure you don't end up like him. That's a start Mycroft. That's a start. I sniff the air again. There. He's doing it anyway, just like I told him not too. Don't get mad at Sherlock, assess the problem, and maybe even help him with his experiment. Is that too much to ask? I don't think so. I stand up and straighten myself out. He hasn't broken me yet. Just shown me my error. And I can fix it now. Slowly, I creep up the stairs, he's going to try and hide it if he hears me. I need to sneak up on him, show him how to fix his issue and then finish that mathematics homework I should have done last night, but I was too busy doing an experiment of my own to even bother with it. I know what he's trying to do. The past seven times he's failed. He's adding too much sulfur, not enough water, and just a tad to much grass. "Sherlock?" I call when I'm at his door, his room's a mess. It always is. Maybe his brain functions too fast for him to worry about doing anything about it. He jumps and spins to face me,

"What?" He asks, sounding offended, hiding his project behind his back.

"Listen. Sorry. Now here's what you need to fix."

"I'll figure it out myself Mycroft. I don't need your 'I've got a stick shoved up my arse' tips right now. Can't you see I'm busy?" I sigh. I expected this.

"Thought you might want to know you'll end up burning down the house, and leaving a foul smell behind if you do what you're attempting. I'm not getting blamed for it this time, you are." He looks at me sheepishly,

"How do I fix it?"

"Don't add so much sulfur, you have too much grass, and not enough water. And you said I have a stick shoved up my arse. You're going to fail." I turn and leave, his smile burned into my memory. Cheeky bugger. It's always, 'I'm fighting the system' with him. I don't understand it personally, but I guess, to each his own. He is only a teenager after all. My only question is, why can't he be like other teenagers? He should be fighting with me about girls and drugs, not experiments and grades.

* * *

_As promised. Now what do you think? Thank you all my lovely readers. I love you all. You all are brilliant. I live on your feedback, and your ideas. If you have any questions, comments, suggestions, don't hesitate to say anything. You are all brilliant, you make my day when you send me awesome reviews. Thank you again. You're brilliant! I'd like to do some shout outs if it's not too much trouble. _

_First off: I'd like to take care of four people at once because I hate long author's notes. TO MY VERY GOOD FRIENDS WHO HAVE BEEN WITH ME SINCE 'This Should Be Interesting': cookieascrazy, M.G. Montecello, Gen, and The Improbable One. You guys are simply brilliant. Most of my reviews are from you guys, who have been faithful since the beginning, I would like to take a moment and personally thank you for your support. You are brilliant. Every time I open my email, I hope it's from one of you guys, and I'm not usually disappointed because I'm crazy about reviews and I just love getting them, even if it's not from you four because reviews are love._

_Secondly: RavenImperatrix. You've been with me a while now. You're thoughtful and know just what I need to hear. And you're also a brilliant writer. Don't let anyone tell you differently._

_And Finally: To Sherlock. The Show itself. I could never do anything for this with out it. It's amazing, brilliant and I love it. Because of Sherlock, I've written this and others and become a better writer._

_Note to reviewers not mentioned: If you were not mentioned, do not frett, I love you just the same and the rest, if not more. You are all brilliant and keep this story up and running. _

_I'm shooting for another forty chapter story. That means a little bit less then fifteen chapters to go people. If you want something done, you contact me. I'll probably do another one too because I'm just having a ball with these, but if you want something done in this story, I'll give you credit and write it out._

_Thanks for enduring my chatter. Have a nice night. Good night, thank you and may your sword be ever brighter.  
_

_Until Gallifrey is free,_

_Time Lord Victorious  
_


	27. The Adventure of the Green Ladder Part 1

_Sherlock_

_A few days before meeting John_

Someone's interrupting my thinking. Someone's giving me a call and breaking my line of though. I'll bet a twopence that it's Lestrade. I reach inside my jacket pocket and pull out my phone, not even looking at the caller ID.

"Sherlock Holmes." It's Lestrade. He says there's someone down at the station for me. Oh joy. Sighing I get up out of my chair and maneuver around the boxes. I have just moved in. Hopefully I'll find a flatmate before Mrs. Hudson decides to toss me out. I hope it's nothing too domestic, nothing that Lestrade is going to make me do. He's such a ponce sometimes. Sometimes I wonder how he became head detective. Obviously, he's pretty smart, but sometimes the sheer stupidity of him and company just makes me cringe and never want to see the light of day again. "Mrs. Hudson. I'm going out."

"Did you find a flatmate?"

"Not today. Better luck tomorrow?"

"You aren't advertising are you?"

"Not a word." I smile as I hug her and leave the premises. 221B Baker street. It's a prime spot. Luckily I got Mrs. Hudson to cut me a special deal. I hail a cab, "Scotland Yard if you don't mind." Obviously he doesn't mind, he's just a cabby. Oh, dull. The ride is silent and slightly awkward I wish I had someone to talk to sometimes, makes things more interesting. I sigh as I pay the cabby and turn on my heal to the police station. Great. Just how I wanted to spend my day. Pushing open the door I make a noise of distaste in my throat. Sally Donnovan is sitting at the desk. Why? I don't really know or care for that matter.

"Freak."

"Ah. Sally."

"What do you want?"

"Lestrade called."

"What did he say?"

"Some one is here to see me. I assume you've not left the office all day, your blouse is still in tact, usually you have managed to spill coffee all down your front by now. Oh don't give me that, you know it's true. Where's Anderson? He's usually around when you are, it's like he's your dog... Or is it the other way around?" Oh the look on her face is to kill for. Her face is all scrunched up and she looks angry, she looks like she wants to punch me in the face. Hahaha. Oh what fun. She obviously can't punch me, she'd get into trouble. "Where's Lestrade? Don't want to leave him looking for me for too long." Angrily she points to his office, not saying a word. I smile at her, a broad smile that says I know I beat her. "Thank you."

"I'm sorry Mrs. Downing, he's usually quicker when I call. Maybe I should have said it was an odd thing." That's what Lestrade said as I pulled open his door,

"You wanted me, I assume it's important." Lestrade stands up and pulls me inside his office,

"Thank God you've come. This is Mrs. Jane Downing. She needs your help. Will you help?" I look the woman over. Blond hair pinned up in the back, bleached obviously, a neat, woman then. Nicely manicured hands, doesn't work much. Neat suit dress and a small handbag. Black. Most of what she's wearing is black. She's in mourning then. Can't be more then a month. The way she holds herself says she hasn't got children but wishes she had. Something tragic happened recently, something to do with the family then.

"I don't know Lestrade, have you seen her? Doesn't look like anything interesting could happen to this prissy and prim woman." Lestrade punches my shoulder and looks at me,

"Hear her out? You might like it." He gives me a chair and tells me to sit. "I'm sorry Mrs. Downing. Tell him your story and I'm sure he'd like to help anyway he can." I look at Lestrade, he must be thick or something.

"Why can't you do it if you like it so much."

"It's on a closed case Sherlock and I know you love to prove us wrong." I look at this Jane woman,

"I'm sorry begin." She takes a deep breath,

"My husband died at the end of last month. His father died at the end of last year. In his father's will he left the house to my husband, Jack, and then to my younger brother in law, Keith if Jack died without kids. Last month, my husband was found dead on the estate. It was concluded that he had drowned in the pool. He had was found face down in two feet of water, the garden pond actually. He was highly intoxicated and there was no sign of a struggle so they assume it was a suicide. But he wasn't they type to commit suicide so they settled on a tragic accident. I suspect foul play." I lean back in my chair. This could prove to be interesting.

"Who do you suspect?"

"Keith."

"Why do you think he did it?"

"Because he has been after the house ever since his father died. He only comes down from Edinburgh on weekends, but he's always been bitter that he didn't get the house. He's got motive."

"Why won't Lestrade here take the case?"

"It's closed and he has a concrete alibi." I sit up straighter, did she say concrete alibi? Lestrade stifles a laugh in the corner, obviously he thinks it's funny that I find this interesting.

"Concrete? Where was he?"

"Edinburgh."

"You're positive about this?"

"Absolutely. He's even pushed the matter when I've asked him about it."

"Ah. When can I come by the house?"

"I'm free tomorrow if you can get a cab down there."

"I just need a look at the garden pond and then I can leave. I'll be in around noon. When can I meet the brother?"

"He'll be back down tomorrow for something or other."

"So soon? That's good. Very good. This should be exciting." I stand up and shake hands with Jane and Lestrade. Time to brood some more at the flat. It's going to be a boringly useless night. Another one.

_The very next day around noon_

I step out of the cab in front of the house, paying him a small tip and waltzing up to the front door, it opens with one knock and Jane shows me to the garden. There is a wall next to the pond, separated from a narrow, loose gravel path by a flower bed. There are no windows on the wall so no one could throw anything at the victim. Jack couldn't swim so he could have slipped, fallen in and drowned. Doesn't look like foul play was involved. I knew it was going to be a dull day today. I should have stayed at home. Jane said that Keith will get here soon, hopefully soon, I'm bored and I would like to talk to this brother in law. It sounds like he has motive, but I can't be sure till I meet him. I head into the house, and sit at the kitchen table that looks over the lawn very interesting. Looks like it should be a very productive day. Keith just got out of a car that just drove up. Finally. Something fun to do, time to have a chat with said brother. He meets me at the front door and shakes my hand,

"My pleasure Mr. Holmes."

"Sherlock please."

"Oh. Right. I'm Keith." I gesture to the seat next to me,

"I know. Can we talk?"

"Of course."

"Thank you."

_TO BE CONTINUED_

_Dear readers, I wrote that TBC because I didn't want to finish up this chapter properly. I'll do it tomorrow. The stuff I've got is just too big and I don't want to work on this anymore. For those of you who do follow Sherlock's website, yes, this is the Adventure of the Green Ladder that was one of the most recent cases. He did it right before he met John, hence the 'If brother has green ladder, arrest brother' text message he sent on John's phone. For those of you who do not follow the website, I strongly suggest it because it's a lot of fun: .uk I've got it bookmarked and I visit it when I need some ideas or something. I should have the second part and final part should be up tomorrow._

_Until Gallifrey is free,_

_Time Lord Victorious _


	28. The Adventure of the Green Ladder Part 2

_Sherlock_

_Continuing talking to Keith Downing_

"No problem Mr. Holmes."

"It's Sherlock."

"Oh yeah. Sorry."

"It's not a big deal Mr. Downing. I just want to ask you some questions regarding your late brother." Keith's face falls, obviously, he's sad he's gone, either that or he's a good actor. I wouldn't put it past him to be lying about feeling bad.

"I loved my brother Mr. Holmes. I'll be happy to answer any questions you have."

"Thank you." Don't even bother to correct him. People, easily forget whatever you tell them. "Let me be very blunt here Mr. Downing, were you aware of the conditions of your father's will?"

"You mean the part about if Jack died without any kids then yes."

"I see. And you weren't too happy about him getting the house were you?"

"I don't see how it's any of your business. They said it was an accident."

"Just answer the question." Keith shifts uncomfortably in his chair,

"Now listen. It would have been very nice to live in this house."

"Course it would. It's a nice house. Big, roomy. Just the sort of thing you would want."

"What?"

"Nothing. You do feel some regret that you didn't get the house."

"Of course I did. Wouldn't you?"

"Oh I don't know. It depends on the situation. This house is too big for my taste."

"Oh."

"Now let me be a bit more blunt, did you want to kill your brother?"

"WHAT?"

"Did you want to kill him before he and his wife could have kids?"

"What kind of question is that?"

"One that I want answered."

"I'm not a murderer Mr. Holmes."

"Never said you were." There you go again, humans, jumping too conclusions. Obviously he wanted the house bad enough, but to murder someone? I'm not sure. Need more data.

"It was implied. I wasn't even here when the accident happened."

"No, sorry. You were in Edinburgh."

"Are we finished?"

"I've gotten everything I need. Thank you for your time." Keith stands and shakes my hand before leaving me sitting at the table. I put my fingertips together and place them under my chin, intriguing. He's hiding something. It was definitely not an accident. Now how to prove it? I need to talk to Jane again. Speak of the devil, Jane enters the kitchen looking disgruntled. Just like I feel. She's been put off by something.

"Mr. Holmes, have you spoken to Keith yet?"

"Sherlock."

"What?"

"It's Sherlock and yes I have. Mrs. Downing, I have come to the conclusion that your husband's drowning was not an accident. Keith Downing was definitely hiding something." She smiles weakly,

"I thought as much. Will you be staying for dinner?" she asks me, I shake my head. I'm not hungry, and I have some more things I need to do before I leave.

"No, but thank you." She smiles and starts to set the table, accidentally knocking one of the salt shakers over, spilling salt all over the table. Without really thinking about it she picks up a pinch and tosses it over her shoulder. Classic. "Are you superstitious perchance?"

"Oh, it's not superstition, it's fact." I laugh inside, people hate when you laugh at them, but really? That's all sorts of nonsense then. And she believes it. Wait... That could be important...

"Was your husband the same?"

"Oh yes."

"Just a few more questions if you don't mind."

"Of course Mr- Sherlock." I smile. Good old people, actually trying.

"Was your husband a drinker?"

"No. Not usually. And when he did, it was just beer."

"Thank you, one last one, but it's not about your husband."

"Okay."

"Where did the Scotch come from in the cabinet?" She looks toward the cabinet I gestured to,

"Oh. Keith sent that over. Jack was drinking it before he died."

"I know. Thank you Mrs. Downing." I stand up, "I just need to examine the garden again if you don't mind, and then I'll be out of your hair." She smiles and holds the door open for me.

"Of course Sherlock." I take the fastest route to the gardens and examine the gravel where he fell. Taking samples. It's getting late, I'll have to go to the lab tomorrow. Molly texted me saying she's got something for me. I'll have to go in there tomorrow. That should be exciting, hopefully it's something interesting. What's this? Is that green- paint is it? Interesting. Look over there, about a meter away. Only in two specific spots does this green paint pop up. A ladder then? A green one. Straightening up I head for the front of the house to get a cab back to my flat, nearly running into the the gardener as I did. "Excuse me sir, you wouldn't happen to have a green ladder would you?"

The man shakes his head thoughtfully, "We don't have any green ladders." Not put there by the gardener then. I glance back at the wall, no windows so you wouldn't need a ladder there anyway. And if you did you wouldn't put it on the gravel path, you'd stick it in the flower bed.

"Thank you." I add to the gardener as I leave. But Keith was in Edinburgh, how did the ladder get put there? And why-? Oh. Bad luck to walk under a ladder so a drunken Jack would walk around it, tripping on the gravel and drowning in the two feet of water. I hit my head against the glass of the cab, quietly cursing the decision to leave so soon. The only question remaining is how the ladder got there. Simple, Keith got a friend to do it while he was in Edinburgh. I'll text Jane later, she practically forced her number on me.

_The next morning_

Mike's in when I get there. Seems to be an interesting enough person.

"Morning Mike."

"Hello Sherlock." Maybe he knows someone I can have a flat share with. Don't want to ask him too upright and straight forward though.

"Listen, I might not be around anymore." He looks surprised,

"What?"

"I've got things I've got to do. I've got to find a flat that doesn't require me to get a job, which right now isn't possible."

"Oh I don't know. You could get a flat share or something," I scoff, no seriously, who would want to be my flat mate?

"I'm a difficult man to find a flat mate for. Who'd want to share a flat with me?" He smiles, good old Mike,

"I don't know Sherlock. We'd miss you around here. I'll see what I can do yeah?"

"Thanks Mike. Where you off to?"

"My break, been in all night."

"Well I could have told you that."

"What?"

"Nothing. Have a nice break Mike."

"Thank you Sherlock!" I proceed down the hall, leaving Mike to enjoy his break.

"Good morning Molly. You said you have something for me?" She smiles as she looks up,

"You know those eyes you were looking for a week ago?"

"Have you got some for me?"

"Of course. I put them next to your coat."

"Molly! You're a life saver! I can't thank you enough!"

"What are you going to use them for?"

"Oh, just an experiment I have in mind." I turn to leave, great! Eyeballs! I was looking for some that I could use recently. Molly grips my arm before I can make it out of the mortuary. I had just put my coat on too.

"Sounds entertaining. I've got a body too." I look down at her,

"A body?"

"Would you like to see it? You left your riding crop last time, thought you might want to claim it and maybe look at the body." I smile,

"Show me." She leads me to the black body bag on the table. I pull the zipper down and sniff, "How fresh?"

"Just in, sixty seven, natural causes. Used to work here. I knew him, he was nice." She smiles at me.

"Fine, we'll start with the riding crop."

_Several whacks and minutes later_

"Bad day was it?" I look up, Molly's come back and she's wearing lipstick now. Hm.

"I need to know what bruises form in the next twenty minutes, a man's alibi depends on it."

"Listen, I was wondering if when you're finished-" I look up at her fully this time,

"You're wearing lipstick, you weren't wearing lipstick before." She smiles at me,

"I just refreshed it a bit." I smile a little and look back down before allowing her to continue,

"Sorry. You were saying?"

"I was wondering if you'd like to have a coffee?" Coffee, good lunch, must be about lunch time now.

"Black. Two sugars please. I'll be upstairs."

"O-kay..." I head up stairs, grabbing my coat and other effects so that all I have to do when I leave is grab my riding crop and eye samples. Smart. I do have an ongoing experiment, and Mike should be in soon. His break must be almost over. I get out my petri dish preparing for some more experiments. I put it on the table. Hm. Mike has someone with him, someone with a limp. Usually he wouldn't make so much noise on the stairs. The door opens and Mike and his friend walk in. Military, really bad limp, short military style haircut, simple.

"Bit different from my day." Doctor then. An army doctor. Trained at Bart's.

"Oh you have no idea."

"Mike can I borrow your phone? There's no signal on mine."

"And what's wrong with the land line?"

"I prefer to text."

"Sorry. I left it in my other coat." Typical Mike. His friend speaks up though. Not limping any more. Psychosomatic then.

"Here. Use mine." Interesting. I don't even know his name and he's offering me the use of his phone? I see some potential in that. I get up from my emails to take the mobile.

"That's an old friend of mine, John Watson." Hand-me down. Harry Watson. Older brother then, from Clara with three kisses. Expensive phone says wife, not girlfriend. Probably getting a divorce. He left her, three months old and he's giving it away? He's a drunk. Must be, the USB port says so. Tan face, no tan above the wrist. He's been abroad, not sun bathing. Where can you get yourself wounded in action and an uneven tan? Two places that I can think of,

"Afghanistan or Iraq?"

"What?"

"Which was it? Afghanistan or Iraq?"

_If brother has green ladder, arrest brother._

_SH _

I hit send before dialing in Jane's number. How convenient.

"Afghanistan. How did you-?" I hand his phone back without answering. Molly enters with my coffee. Perfect,

"Ah Molly. Coffee. Thank you. What happened to the lipstick?"

"It wasn't working for me."

"Really? I thought it was a big improvement, mouth's too small now."

"Okay." She leaves. Silly girl. I take a sip of the coffee, perfect. Now I just have to finish up this email to my brother, telling him to leave me alone. That's the third time this week.

"How do you feel about the violin?"

"Sorry what?"

"I play the violin when I'm thinking. Sometimes I don't talk for days on end. Would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other." Oh I've rattled his cage. This is great.

"You told him about me?" John asks Mike.

"Not a word."

"Then who said anything about flatmates?"

"I did." Oh this is fun. "Told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for." I pull my coat on, "And now here he is just after lunch with an old friend clearly home from military service. It wasn't a difficult leap."

"How did you know about Afghanistan?"

"Got my eye on a nice little place in central London. Together we should be able to afford it. We'll meet there tomorrow evening, seven o'clock. Sorry, got to dash. I left my riding crop in the mortuary." What fun. He's bemused. He certainly looks it. Now he's going to ask questions when I'm trying to leave.

"Is that it?"

"Is that what?"

"We've only just met and now we're going to go look at a flat?"

"Problem?"

"We don't know a thing about each other. I don't know where we're meeting. I don't even know your name."

"I know you're an army doctor and you're an invalid home from Afghanistan. I know you have a brother that's worried about you but you won't go to him for help, possibly because he's an alcoholic more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic, quite correctly I'm afraid. That's enough to be going on don't you think?" I can't leave it like that. He still doesn't know where we're meeting and he won't come if he doesn't know. He seems like an interesting person and I don't want to totally freak him out and have him dislike me. I pause, halfway out the door.

"The name is Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker Street. Afternoon."


	29. All I've Got

_Sherlock_

I took another rattling breath before leaning over the toilet bowl, again. More acidic stomach fluids forced themselves up my throat and out of my mouth, leaving a sour taste. This was the fifth time in only a minute. My body heaved again, trying to expel any nonexistent fluid. I collapsed, exhausted, onto the cold tile floor, body quivering slightly. My abdomen was sore and my throat burned. Shakily I reached for the sink, only to run out of energy before I was halfway up. I slumped to the floor again breathing heavily. I shivered on the cool white tiles and curled up into a ball. Hopefully John would find me soon, and find some way to make this all go away. He was a doctor after all he had to have something. I knew that dabbling in those drugs had been a bad idea, but I had to know what it was like, how it would feel to mix them. Inwardly I moaned, hoping that I wouldn't die before John could come back from Sarah's. I looked up at the early morning light that peeped through the gently wafting curtains and cursed silently. When I had recovered enough energy I stood and peered at my reflection in the mirror. I studied my pale face, taking in every detail, noticing the sweat that dampened my curly dark hair. I ran a glass under the tap. I pressed the glass to my forehead before looking at myself again. I never got to drink the water and get rid of the horrible taste that lingered before the world started tilting dangerously. The glass fell from my hand as I tried to remain upright by gripping the polished granite sink. Faintly I heard the creak of the door as it opened, and the slam that quickly followed after it shut, and I managed a loud croak of fear as it closed in on my heart. 'Bad bad idea Sherlock. Never again.' I counseled my self before falling to the floor. I hit my head hard on the bathtub and my eyesight started to fade. John entered looking scared. I allowed my face to twist into a sly smile before sub-coming to the darkness.

_John_

"Oh bloody Hell," I cursed quietly, gazing down at the smugly smiling Sherlock. You know, when he's not being a prat he isn't so bad. "What have you gotten yourself into now?" I squatted down to look at his face, trying to determine what he had done. Something not good apparently. Then I saw that his left sleeve was rolled up and a small puncture wound on his arm. Of course. The tiny glass syringe had rolled under the bathroom cabinet and it was empty. "Bugger. Of course you would. You! Of all people!" He had looked fine only a few hours ago, he had told me that it was ok if I went out with Sarah, he said he had other plans. With a loud sigh I gathered his slight form in my arms and took him to his room. I stretched him out and pulled the untidy blankets over him. After taking his temperature I got a glass of water and set it on the bedside table. He was going to need it. I rolled the syringe between my fingers, supervising Sherlock as he slept.

_Sherlock_

My head was pounding so hard I couldn't think straight. It took an enormous effort to try an open my eyes, and immediately I regretted the decision to try. Light flooded my eyes and caused a sharp pain between the eyelids. It took a moment to recall everything that had happened and when my vision adjusted I was pleasantly surprised to end up in my room. John was here. I could hear the steady, even breaths of an army man dozing, and his chair creaked noisily. I started to sit up, but thought better of it when my sides ached and my vision started to go again. My head hit my pillow with a soft thud and I sighed again, this time in aggravation. My mouth was so parched I am sure that you could use it for sandpaper. I found it funny that I hadn't noticed it before. It burned and I wanted water desperately. John stirred slightly in his chair and mumbled a little bit, adjusting his position, distracting me from my thoughts of 'woe is me'. This moment was crucial. The point where the human body wakes, just slightly, shifting in the sleep. I tried to shout out, rouse him further, but my words made no sense and came out as raspy and broken sounds. At least it was enough. John woke up, jumping slightly and looking around, on red alert. 'Poor soldier.' I thought with a smile. His eyes caught on me and his face fell into a look of displeasure,"YOU BLOODY IDIOT! What the HELL is wrong with you? Meth and cocaine? TOGETHER? You're lucky you didn't kill yourself! Do you know how stupid that was?" His voice softened slightly as he continued, "Of course you did. That's why you did it. Of course." I looked reproachful as if trying to make him understand how thirsty I really was. A dance of light caught the corner of my eye and I spotted a glass of water on my bedside table. I eyed it longingly. John followed my gaze and sighed heavily. Tipping the glass to my cracked lips he shook his head, although I could tell he was slightly amused by my experiment. The water moisturized my dry mouth and throat, flooding my body with a sense of rejuvenation and I held back a sigh of relief. He set the glass down and looked at me again,

"Why? Why me? Why in the whole bloody Earth did you choose me to look after you? Don't you have other friends? Your brother?" he asked exasperatedly. I looked at him for a moment,

"You're all I've got."

* * *

_I must really be slipping guys. Sorry for another repeat from 'This Should Be Interesting'. If I remember correctly, it's the first chapter for that set. Sorry for the repeat again. I've got nothing in and then I feel bad if I don't post anything, so here you are. _

_I am aware that some have joined this journey at the beginning of this set of chapters. This is new for you and I hope you enjoyed it. First one I ever wrote ever I think. I don't think too highly of it but there you are. I should have something new up tomorrow or tonight. If you're lucky, which you usually turn out to be._

_Until Gallifrey is free,_

_Time Lord Victorious  
_


	30. Troubled Dreams

_Sherlock_

Oh God. I must have fallen asleep on the couch again. I should probably stop doing that. John always gets upset because he says he can't sit down. I did give him permission to sit on my knees, obviously he doesn't like that plan. I should probably wake up now. I don't like the dreams I have when I do sleep. They aren't any fun at all. Usually. Most of the time it has to deal with my father and my mother and the past. Sometimes it deals with John. And recently? Moriarty. I don't like dreaming about him. Wake up Sherlock. Wake up now. You'll regret it mate. I try to open my eyes, so heavy. I'm not sure I want to see the light, it feels good to be lying right here right now. I don't mind if John gets upset. Yeah I do. Come on, wake up enough to head for bed. How's that sound? It sounds good. I fumble with my limbs as I try to get up without opening my eyes. I know where I am and I can get to my bed without opening my eyes. I've done it before. Trying not to wake John up I start to make my way to my room. Not going to make it. My body hates me and is too fatigued to even try. With a small shout of protest my body drags my mind back to the black depths, and the strength leaves my body allowing me to slump noisily to the floor.

_John_

A small, almost insignificant noise pulls me away from my troubled dreams and I wake with a start as the muffled sound of someone falling enters my ears. It came from downstairs. Must be Sherlock. Groaning I get up and stretch. Best see what's wrong with him. Hopefully he hasn't cracked his ribs again. That was a night and a half. Rubbing my eyes I slowly tromp down the stairs, letting them creak all they want. One goal in mind. Get a glass of water, help Sherlock with whatever he's done to himself now, and go back to my bed, which will more then likely be cold by the time I get back. I stop and stare. Sherlock's on the ground, knocked out. He shifts a little bit and moans. Sleeping. Wait-Sleeping? When does he-? He does sometimes I suppose. Usually on the couch. Why he does that I don't know. He has a bedroom and a nice bed. I wonder what sociopaths dream about. I grab a pillow from the couch and put it under his head, I'm not going to move him, not tonight. I wonder why he doesn't usually sleep though. Maybe it's the dreams, or maybe he just doesn't need it. I know I wouldn't sleep if I could. Terrible dreams plague me at night, so I'm barely sleeping at all. Glass of water is all that's left now. Good. Maybe I'll actually get some sleep tonight. Stepping over the skinny body of my flatmate I make my way to the kitchen. Oh. That is rank. What's he done now? Left something in the drain like last week? I hope not. I just want a glass of water.

_Sherlock_

It's started. A burlap sack is removed from my face and my eyes start to smart and sting because of the sudden light.

"Hey there Sherlock." Moriarty. Again.

"What do you want?"

"Me? Why should you care what I want? You should be more worried about him!" Moriarty gestures behind him. Oh God. It's John. He's tied to a chair, looks like he's been beaten a bit. Oh God. Moriarty knows that John's my best mate.

"Why?"

"Why what Sherlock? I don't know everything."

"Why are you doing this?"

"You didn't stay away Sherlock. Remember what I said?"

"Enlighten me."

"I said I'd burn the heart out of you."

"And I said I don't have one."

"And I said we both know that's not quite true."

"Isn't it?"

"Not at all. Your best friend. You care about him don't you. It would just break your fragile little heart if I were to do this." He pulls out a gun. Where did he get that? Oh GOD! He's going to shoot John! He's going to shoot him! He puts the muzzle to John's temple and cocks it. Taunting me. "Oh. You should see your face. Are you alright Sherlock? What if I were to do this?" He puts a finger over the trigger and puts a little bit of pressure on it. OH MY GOD! He's going to kill John. He's going to kill him and make me watch. "Or this?" There's a shot and I close my eyes. OH GOD! HE'S KILLED JOHN!

"NO! YOU BASTARD! NO! OH MY GOD!"

_John_

"NO! YOU BASTARD! NO! OH MY GOD!" Sherlock's sudden outburst makes me nearly drop one of the only clean glasses into the sink, where it would probably break. Taking a quick gulp I turn to face Sherlock. He's twitching on the floor, looking shocked, scared, and angry all at once, eyes screwed up against some unspeakable horror.

"Sherlock?" No use. He's dreaming now.

"I WILL KILL YOU! OH MY GOD! JOHN! JOHN!"

_Sherlock_

"JOHN! JOHN!" I finally open my eyes, there's blood every where, even on me. How did I not feel it. Jim's smiling at me, holding the gun out.

"Bet you liked that. How do you feel now Sherlock? Will you stay away now?"

"Oh, it's just started. Let me go and we'll see how much I'll stay away. You've murdered my best friend, and I can't stand for that."

"Oh, he was just a pet! You can't say anything. He's so loyal, and then WHOOPS! Sorry Sherlock. Really I am. But it had to be done." He smiles before placing the gun in my lap.

"Thought you didn't like to get your hands dirty."

"This was an exception. The idea was just so... tantalizing, I had to do it myself. Plus it would hurt you more. Am I right? How do you feel?" Like a truck ran me over and over and over and over and over again. And like I don't know what I'm going to do with myself. And like none of this is real. John can't really be dead. Shock. Numb. OH GOD.

"JOHN! JOHN! JOHN!"

"Cry all you want Sherlock, because you are crying. I can see that much. Poor baby. I'm sorry. Had to be done though. I'm sorry. Maybe if you had backed off like you were supposed to..." He strokes my cheek. Oh God. I'm crying. John.

"John? JOHN!"

_John_

"JOHN! JOHN?" He has been doing that for five minutes now, with bits of mumbled conversation in between. What is he dreaming about? He gives another twitch, "I AM GOING TO KILL YOU MYSELF! OH MY GOD! JOHN! JOHN? Get away from me you bastard!"

"Sherlock! Sherlock. It's okay. I'm here, you're fine. You're going to be okay. Sherlock, I'm alright. It's all going to be okay. Sherlock. SHERLOCK!"

_Sherlock_

I'm going to kill him. Going to kill him. And I know how. I'm going to cut his heart out. Oh my God. John's still there, slumped over now. Head hanging, blood dripping, unmoving. Oh God. He's not going to get up ever. He's not going to move ever again. And it's my fault. I didn't stop prying.

"You bastard."

"Thought you had no heart Sherlock."

"Doesn't mean I can't care."

"Yes it does Sherlock." This can't be real. It just can't be. Not real. Oh GOD. John's not going to wake up.

"John?"

"This is about you and me Sherlock."

"You and I. JOHN?"

"He's not going to move Sherlock."

"He has to. He's my doctor."

"Brother." I look up. Mycroft. We're in a hospital. John's there, in that bed, and he's not going to move. All vital signs have flat lined. He's not breathing. Not moving. John's dead. "I'm sorry Sherlock. We couldn't save him. Like we couldn't save father."

"I DON'T CARE ABOUT MY BASTARD FATHER! I CARE ABOUT JOHN!"

_John_

"JOHN IS WHAT'S IMPORTANT! AND NOW HE'S GONE! WE ARE NOT HAVING THIS CONVERSATION MYCROFT!" What the Hell? What's he dreaming about. Not good. I need to wake him up. Now. It's important.

"Sherlock. Wake up. Wake up now Sherlock." I start to shake his shoulders. No response. He's crying now. Crying in his sleep. This isn't good at all. "SHERLOCK!"

_Sherlock_

I put my head in my hands and cry. I can do nothing else. My world, my life, my friend, my best friend has been taken from me. In one day. And it hurts. Oh God. It hurts.

"SHERLOCK! SHERLOCK WAKE UP!" I look up. What? Is that John's voice? Wake up?

_John_

He's stirring, eyelids fluttering. Good sign. "SHERLOCK! WAKE UP!" His eyes fly open and he gropes in the dark wildly for a moment.

"JOHN?"

"Yes Sherlock. You're awake now. Everything is good now."

"Oh my God. That was one of the worst things in the world." He's breathing heavily, wiping at the tears that have started to dry on his face.

"Well it's over now. Want to talk about it?"

"No."

"Alright. You need some sleep. You're having dreams, and falling asleep on the floor. You need sleep."

"I don't want any."

"Please Sherlock."

"Don't leave me?"


	31. Audio Only

_Sherlock Age: 28_

_Mainly about Lestrade  
_

"Lestrade."

"What Sherlock?"

"I just wrapped up another case for you. One you should have already solved."

"Really Sherlock?"

"Lestrade!"

"Fine fine. Hand me the file. Let me look."

"Here. Do you see?"

"Ah yes. Thank you Sherlock."

"What? That's it? No comment on how I'm wrong, or how it isn't right? No snippy remarks or anything like that?"

"Sherlock, I thought you were clever."

"What?"

"Thought you were clever. Notice anything?"

"Like what?"

"My face."

"What about it?"

"What does it look like. Tell me."

"You haven't shaved. Not for several days."

"And?"

"What do you mean and?"

"Sherlock!"

"What?"

"Observe and deduct. Please."

"Well."

"Go on."

"Never thought I'd see the day."

"Well you have. Now go."

"You haven't shaved for several days. You have gigantic bags under your eyes and you appear to not have taken a shower for a couple days. You haven't even changed your clothes. You appear to have not slept for several days. There are several empty cups of coffee, several mugs of coffee, and a nearly empty coffee cup on your desk, slightly steaming. You have stains all over your fingers from pens and paper meaning that you have been up doing paper work. Maybe even a bit of leg work. You look like you're about to fall asleep where you stand... Er, sit."

"Missing something big Sherlock."

"I am?"

"Of course you are."

"What then? Enlighten me."

"I haven't slept, and I am none to happy."

"I got that."

"I know. But you didn't get this."

"WHAT THE HELL LESTRADE! YOU JUST WHACKED ME IN THE FACE!"

"Get out of my office."

"You're worse then a mother bear on a Monday morning when her cubs have been stolen."

"Get out Sherlock."

"But-!"

"Just get out."

"WHY!"

"Because I asked. I am not in the mood for this right now. I just need to finish up this case and then maybe I'll look at the one you've given me. But right now, I'm up to my eyes in paper work, I've got this huge case I'm working, and I haven't slept, or even left the office in three whole days. I would really appreciate it if you didn't say anything else and just left."

"But Lestrade!"

"Sherlock! Just go! Or do I have to call Mycroft?"

"NO! I'm leaving! I'm leaving now."

"Thank you."

"Get some sleep will you? You're no fun like this."

"Thank you for the advice Sherlock."

"Of course."

"Oh God. That man is going to kill me. Too energetic for his own good, too smart as well. What case was it that he wanted me to look at? Oh well. I don't care right now. I don't even- I just need some sleep."

"Sir?"

"Hm? Sally! What?"

"You were talking to yourself. Again."

"What?"

"Was that Sherlock Holmes who just waltzed out of here looking smug?"

"Possibly. How long ago was that?"

"Five minutes."

"Oh. Yes."

"Are you okay sir?"

"I'm fine."

"I think you need some sleep. How about you go home now? Anderson and I'll wrap everything up here."

"I can't Sally. You know I can't."

"And why not?"

"Because I have to finish this case."

"I thought that was what the Freak was doing."

"No. He gave me another case."

"Oh. Are you sure sir?"

"Oh yes Sally. I'm quite alright. I could use another coffee."

"Of course."

"Wait. Before you go. What time is it?"

"Half past twelve in the morning."

"What?"

"Yeah. Still want that coffee?"

"What? Oh, yes. Of course. Thank you Sally. Thank you."

"Sure. It'll only be a few moments."

"Peace and quiet, at last. Maybe if I just let my head rest on my arms. Yeah. That will be good."

_Tap Tap Tap_

"What's that then?"

_Tap Tap Tap_

"SHERLOCK! WHAT THE HELL!"

"Lestrade, I've solved your case!"

"What? NO! I'm supposed to solve it!"

"You aren't happy? I thought you'd be pleased."

"Get away from my window."

"Do you want to know?"

"What?"

"Do you want to know the answer?"

"Of course! NO! Don't climb in through my windo- Oh do whatever you like."

"Thank you."

"Spill. I need to go home."

"Say please first."

"No. Just- No. I'm not in the mood Sherlock."

"Grouchy."

"Yes. Spill"

"Fine."

"Thank you."


	32. Late

_Sherlock Age: 26_

I duck as my assailants arm whistles past my face, almost seconds too late. Not good. What have you done now Sherlock? You should have never taken that case! Too bad you did anyway. What's Lestrade going to say? I back pedal as the man continues to throw punches at me, pushing me up against the wall. You knew it was the father and you still had to go and- NOT NOW! I'll chastise myself later, right now I need to focus on _not_ dying. He feigns to the right and then follows with a left hook to my jaw. I think I hear a crack, but it could just be the ringing in my ears, accompanied by flashing white lights. I stumble backwards. Maybe you should have agreed to take those fighting lessons from Mycroft. He said it would be free, and that it would be a good idea for me to take them. Should have listened. The man jabs at my ribs, knocking the wind out of my lungs in one breath. Not good. I straighten and attempt to block another punch to the face, barely succeeding in time. He probably never had fighting lessons and already he is whooping my arse. I slide to the floor and duck to the side, time to gain better footing. I've seen enough fights and watched enough movies to know that's always important. I've confused him. Good. I swing a fist at his side, hitting my mark a little shy, but still causing some pain. Lestrade and the rest should be here soon. I did send them a text message. Though, he doesn't trust me yet so I wouldn't blame him if he came late. That's the police for you. I face the father who murdered his only daughter and size him up. I can't take him. There's no way I could fight him. He's much larger then me. It looks like as if one of his arms could take my knee cap and snap it clear in half. Luckily he hasn't broken anything of mine yet, but that doesn't me he won't. He runs at me, I can't back up, there's a table there. He grabs me around my waist and throws me across the room. I land hard on my shoulder, dislocating it. Brilliant. He runs at me again but the door bursts open before he can make it across the room. Guns drawn, Lestrade and several other police officers round on the father who towered over me.

"Bit late? I wanted to avoid this at all costs." Lestrade smiles,

"Obviously not, or it wouldn't have happened. Donnovan, cuff him."

"You know I did."

"Whatever Sherlock. How did you know it was the father?" I shrug. I don't want to tell him anything so I'll just brush it off. I can make him wonder, astonish him. It's always a laugh to make him get frustrated.

"It's always the father innit?"

"Sherlock!"

"You were late. I'll tell you later when I'm not so shaken."

"You're shaken?"

"I've just been beat up. If you hadn't noticed, my shoulder's been dislocated."

"Freak."

"Sally. How are you? Good I trust. The worlds treated you well. You don't look a day older then when I saw you last. Two days ago."

"Is that supposed to mean something?"

"Not at all, it just looks like you haven't been out with your boyfriend recently. Are you not together anymore?"

"None of your business, freak."

"Fine, fine. I can respect that."

"Sherlock!"

"What Lestrade?"

"Ambulance is waiting for you."

"Ah. Thank you. It shouldn't hurt a bit."

"Yeah it will."

"Of course it will. Thank you. By the way."

"For what?"

"Believing me."

"What can I say? You're a very interesting person Sherlock. Plus, what you said made sense, in a twisted sort of way. When we get a confession from him we'll need you back."

"Of course."

"Go get your shoulder fixed. We'll talk after that."

"No we won't. I'm going home after that."

"Sherlock!"

"Try and stop me." I leave him standing there, looking at me angrily, my arm hanging limply at my side. The people who are waiting for me are grim faced and give no warning before wrenching my arm back into place. I don't say another word the whole night as I sit in my chair. Grudgingly I pull my phone out.

You were right.

SH

About what?

MH

Fighting.

SH

What happened?

MH

Don't act like you don't know.

SH

Fine.

When do you want to start?

MH

Next week suit?

SH

Of course.

What do you want to learn?

MH

Surprise me.

SH


	33. Blood

_Author's Note: Hey there guys. I've been away so I haven't had time to do one of these for a while, which is fine. I almost did another repeat the other day, but I did 'Audio Only' instead, which is all audio. I don't think I'll be doing another one of those. It was strange, and I kept wanting to put expressions and stuff like that, but it was AUDIO ONLY. We, sadly, are nearing the end of this section, and once again I find myself feeling saddened, and just a little bit upset. But I made a commitment and only forty chapters at a time is a hard thing to do, but I'm doing it. And once again I find myself without a title for the next set of forty chapters. Just something to think about, I'll take any suggestions. I would also like to know which of all of the chapters you liked best. Personally, my favorite is 'Troubled Dreams'. I was surprised at how well it turned out. It was really good and I really love it! So I would really appreciate it. Thank you guys so much, you are all brilliant! I love you all. _

_This one came to me because my school was having a blood drive and I thought... What would happen if John came home and Sherlock was giving blood? So this is what happens. Enjoy!_

_Until Gallifrey is free,_

_Time Lord Victorious _

Sherlock leaned back in the chair, a grimace on his face. "Don't suppose you could hurry up? My flat mate will be home soon, and he doesn't like it when people are stabbing me with needles." The nurse smiled.

"You offered to give blood every year, you should have thought about it."

"That was before I thought that I could have a friend that I would be living with." She wipes his arm to clean it before stabbing a needle into his arm and letting the blood flow up a tube and into a bag, the red liquid moving at an agonizingly slow pace.

"Still. Sorry. You'll be here for about ten minutes. You're blood flow is kind of slow."

"Dull."

"Sorry."

"Oh that's him on the stairs now."

"I don't hear anything?"

"Don't you?" The door opens and Sherlock waves at the door, "JOHN!"

"Sherlock! What the Hell's going on here?"

"Oh this?" He gestures to the needle in his arm, "I'm giving blood. Like I do every year."

"You are?"

"Obviously." The nurse smiles apologetically.

"Sorry, John is it?"

"No need to apologize, John's a doctor."

"He is?"

"Oh yes. An army doctor. Isn't that right?" Sherlock smiles, obviously being effected by the loss of blood, even though he's only been hooked up for a couple minutes. John raises an eyebrow, with an amused smile on his face,

"Yeah actually. Sherlock? You okay?"

"Yes. Obviously."

"How long have you got?"

"Seven or eight minutes now."

"Slow bleeder?" The question was directed at the woman who was taking his blood, she smiles and nods,

"It might have gone faster if he had something to drink this morning." John laughs before sitting on the couch to observe the exchange of blood.

"It's a wonder that he can even give blood, he doesn't eat anything very often. How can he be healthy enough to give blood I wonder." Sherlock grins, looking at John sideways, head leaning against the back of the chair,

"I do eat, especially when I know that it's time to give blood again. I made myself breakfast this morning. You would be proud, don't you usually make breakfast, and I don't eat it?"

"Yes. What did you make?"

"Scrambled eggs, with a glass, the last glass, of orange juice, a bit of toast with butter." John's shocked. He can't believe that Sherlock would actually make himself breakfast, especially one like that.

"I don't believe you." Sherlock sighs,

"How long now? I do have things to do." The nurse smiles before patting his arm,

"Five minutes now."

"God. This is dull. I should never have signed up for this."

"It's for a good cause." John and the woman say at the same time, causing them to smile at each other, he's a doctor. He knows what he's talking about.

"I don't care. It's boring."

"You can always get taken off the list."

"Mycroft would kill me. He thinks I need to do something like this for the community more often. You know what I told him John? I said, 'I solve crime Mycroft, don't you think that's enough service for the city?' He shook his head at me and tsked. Signed me up for the stupid blood drive anyway. Ponce." The blood drive lady shakes her head, smile on her face,

"Who is Mycroft? Sounds like a charmer."

"My idiot brother. He's not. Tries to control my life. Even puts surveillance cameras up around my flat. Did you notice them John?"

"WHAT?"

"I take that as a no. Are we done yet?" She smiles,

"Just about." She pulls the needle out of his arm and bandages it up, pushing him back down into the chair when he tried to get up. "Now there are some things you need to do. Eat something, don't get up for a few minutes, and you probably shouldn't exercise today. You've just given a pint of your blood. Now luckily your flatmate is a doctor so I don't have to tell him what to do, and I don't have to tell you want to do either." She smiles as she packs her bag up and leaves the flat, with a small wave to John before heading down the stairs. Sherlock sighs loudly.

"I'm going to kill Mycroft someday."

"Why?"

"Did you hear what she said? I can't do anything today. Lestrade wanted me to come down when I finished up here. Can't do that now. Yorik envies me." He gestures to the skull on the mantle piece.

"I hid that yesterday." John points out, feeling slightly cheated.

"I know. And I found _him_. Know why he envies me? Because he hasn't got a body or blood to donate. Ha. Silly skull." John rolls his eyes.

"Don't give blood anymore okay?"

"Why? Mycroft makes me."

"Eat this." He shoves a cookie into Sherlock's hands, "Go on. Eat it. It'll help." Sherlock narrows his eyes suspiciously.

"Is it poisoned?"

"WHAT? Of course not! Just eat it. I'll get you some juice."

"I drank the last of the orange juice. Sorry."

"I don't like orange juice."

"Really? I thought everyone liked orange juice. I like orange juice."

"We have some grape, I'll get that." John ignores anything that comes out of Sherlock's mouth for the most part now. Blood deprivation. Not fun to deal with. He thrusts a glass of grape juice into Sherlock's arms and tells him to drink it, even though Sherlock doesn't want to. Suddenly Sherlock sits up, nearly throwing the glass across the room,

"I've got it!"

"What?"

"I've solved the case. Come one John, we have to go to Scotland Yard. Oh, Lestrade is going to love this." He stands up, swaying as soon as he straightened out. "Not good. I think I need to sit down again." John laughs,

"Good idea. We'll go see Lestrade in an hour or two when you're better." and then he added under his breath, "ish."

_Hey again. Sorry. I just thought you should know that I don't like this one much at all, but I'm going to post it anyway. Hahaha. Sorry. Bear with me. I've got a plan for the next one. It should be better. I hope. Haha. Tell me what you think, don't forget to add which story was your favorite so far. And for those of you who read 'This Should Be Interesting' you can choose one from either story because I know there are some great ones in that set too. Thank you so much. I love you all. Have a brilliant weekend._

_Until Gallifrey is free,_

_Time Lord Victorious _


	34. II

_Sherlock_

I should have known it was my brother by the look on Mrs. Hudson's face when she told me I had someone in the flat waiting for John and I to get back from lunch. I took the stairs two at a time as usual after I hung up my coat. John had followed me, and nearly ran into my back when I stopped dead at the top of the stairs, Mycroft had sneaked into my flat and was waiting for me.

"Sherlock. She wants to see you again." I had sighed and tried to look bored. I knew who he was talking about, I didn't care to admit it to John.

"Seriously?"

"What are you talking about Sherlock? Who wants to see you?" John had moved around the door to face me and Mycroft. He had a bad day and he was not willing to play around.

"Do I have to go Mycroft?"

"Sherlock." He gave me that look that he does when he thinks I'm stupid.

"John and I just got back. We don't want to leave again."

"John doesn't have to come."

"If John doesn't go, there is absolutely know way I'm going." Mycroft frowned, and John had stamped his foot and demanded an explanation.

"Sherlock. I'm sorry."

"Mycroft?" I suppose at that time I should have suspected foul play when he said he was sorry. Before I could have done anything two men stepped out from behind my door and pulled burlap bags over mine and John's head. Without thinking, I took a big breath of air, smelling what I know I shouldn't have and within thirty seconds I had sunk to the floor, unconscious, knowing that John had done the same.

He has managed to kidnap me again. Why do I let him do this? I think it might be because I know that John would enjoy it, even if I don't. God, I'm such a stupid person. My head is hurting now, thanks to whatever Mycroft drugged me with.

"Mycroft? That was stupid. I know where we're going, no need for the bags." Mycroft chuckles as he pulls the bag from my head, "And why bother with a cab?" John's woken up now. Good.

"Where are we going Sherlock?"

"To see the queen."

"WHAT?" Mycroft smiles widely,

"You heard him."

"According to _someone_ the queen has requested my presence. Again."

"AGAIN? You mean you've met the queen?"

"Of course! My brother is in the government, I have to meet the queen at some point."

"Wow." John doesn't say anything for a while.

"Buckingham Palace." Mycroft announces before opening the door and showing us out. John is in awe the entire time we are shown through the palace, passing sights that he'd never before seen and probably never will again.

"Sherlock!" he hissed at me, grabbing my arm, "We're in Buckingham Palace!"

"I know John."

"This is so cool!"

"It is?" He gives me a look that says 'you idiot, of course it is' "I never really thought about it like that."

"Like what?"

"That meeting the queen was cool."

"What did you think about it?"

"Just another day in the business. I meet so many people, what's one more? Even royalty?"

"Don't talk like that. I fought a war for her."

"And nearly died to. Do you think it's worth it?"

"Absolutely."

"That's where we differ. I don't think I could bring myself to fight for anyone, especially her."

"What are you saying Sherlock?"

"She's like a second mother to me, I could never fight her battles. She's too strong willed." John smiles,

"She's like a second mother?"

"Meaning I've been here more the twice John. She loves me like a son."

"Wow."

"Indeed." We are shown through the usual door into the tea room, where she sits in her chair, back to us, but I can tell she's smiling. "Majesty."

"Sherlock, you know I don't like that." I smile, good old queen Elizabeth.

"I'd like you to meet my friend, John Watson."

"I know you John Watson. You've done some good service, and for that, I thank you. But I asked Mycroft to bring you here for a reason. That reason being I'm offering Sherlock a knighthood." I laugh,

"To which I respectfully decline. Again. I don't need that, and you know it."

"Sherlock!" John chides me.

"I don't need it John. Thank you, but I must say no again. I'm happy to do service, but I will not accept a knighthood. I helped you once, and now you offer me a knighthood every year. And every year I say no. You'd think that maybe you would give up."

"You, Sherlock, of all people, should know I'm very strong willed and will not give up until you finally accept." I smile again.

"I'm sorry, Majesty, I have to leave now. I'm taking John to dinner, as promised. You wouldn't deny me dinner with my flatmate would you?" She laughs from her chair,

"Of course not. On with you. I'll see you again next year."

"I look forward to it."


	35. Lines

_Sherlock Age: 26_

Lines are boring. Why do I subject myself to lines? I shouldn't leave the house, it's a boring, dull concept and I do it anyway because I feel the need for food sometimes, and for a way to make money, I have to leave the flat in order to do either of those things. I let out a sigh and impatiently tap my foot, what can entertain me while I wait in this blasted line? WHAT? Oh! Here's an idea, observe everyone, don't say anything, just observe, entertain yourself with their life's story. Oh shut up! You know that's not any fun when you don't have anyone to share your findings with. Oh, you ponce! Text Mycroft. He'd kill you. Yeah, well he's due for some annoyance. He hasn't made contact for several months, maybe he's dead! He's not dead! You'd have heard about it. The people in front of me shuffle forward a bit, creating a space for me to inch forward, which allows me more room to see the people passing me in the streets.

There! That woman, she's recently left her husband, but doesn't feel bad about it, she's holding herself high and has found another man, recently. She's moving in with him, due to the bag, and missing ring with a small tan line. She's smiling, and sort of glowing which might suggest that she's pregnant. That's a nice story. Except, her keys suggest that she's been a bit short of cash. They've been unused recently, suggesting that she hasn't been to her flat or using her car in a few days. Her purse is light and swinging gently from her shoulder. Cute.

There's a girl here I think you'd like.

SH

What the Hell Sherlock?

MH

I'm bored.

There's this girl here, would you like to hear about her?

SH

Will you leave me alone when you're done?

MH

Maybe.

SH

Go.

MH

She just got out of a relationship and is moving in with her boyfriend, she's possitively glowing! You should look at her, she's pregnant too I'd wager.

SH

Is that it?  
MH

No, but there's too much to text.

SH

Oh. Leave me be now?

MH

Maybe.

Mycroft, I'm bored.

SH

WELL DON'T BUG ME!

MH

BUT I'M BORED!

And I need to look like I'm busy.

SH

Why?

MH

Someone will take my spot in line if I don't.

SH

You're not in the flat I had arranged for you?

MH

Obviously not!

SH

I didn't see you leave.

MH

I disabled the cameras. Do you think I'm thick?

Don't answer that.

SH

You git! It took me hours to set those up!

MH

SORRY!

I don't like people spying on me.

SH

Stop texting me.

MH

FINE!

SH

The line has moved considerably now, finally. I can see the front now. I let out a little sigh of exasperation. How many minutes had I spent talking to Mycroft? Five? Ten? Not enough. I think that maybe I need a friend sometimes, only on days like this.


	36. Je Ne Sais Pas

_Sherlock Holmes Age: 27_

_Paris, France_

I sit quietly, legs crossed and arms folded. Sherlock, you can do this. Stay calm, he's only a French aristocrat, you have the MI6 on your side as well as the rest of the British government, he can't hurt you if you wanted to. Get the painting, and get out.

"Tu sais le raison que j'suis ici, ouai " _You know why I'm here, yes? _The man in the chair opposite of me nods, smiling a ruthless smile,

"Pour la peinture ." _For the painting._ I nod,

"Où est-ce? MI6 voudrait que cette peinture aurait le plus moins sang qu'est possible. Tu ne voudrais pas rendre cette situation plus difficile pour moi, d'accord? " _Where is it? MI6 would very much like to have that painting with as little blood spilled as possible. You wouldn't want to make this difficult for me would you?_ His grin widens and then he gestures to the men on either side of the mahogany doorway. I shift a little in my chair, repositioning myself, ready to spring at a moments notice. I survey the lushly decorated room for a moment, taking in the paintings on the wall, the bright red carpet, the door, the window, latched and locked, the fireplace it's flue wide open. I look closely for a way to escape if need be. Hopefully negotiations wouldn't come to that, but the smile on the Frenchman's face is slightly suspicious. The Frenchman himself is enough to arouse suspicions. Lank greasy black hair that clings to his face makes it looks like he's had a run in with some people who are not very good, keeping him up all day, all night for several weeks. Interesting. He has a frog-like mouth and dirty fingernails. Two hunky men entered, carrying a wrapped canvas.

"Puis-je? " _May I? _He gestures for me to go ahead. I tear the butcher paper and reveal the painting. It's a fake. Of course it's fake. How could it not be fake. The scrawl near the bottom looks like a seven year old tried to copy their parent's signature. The stars that dot the sky looks too much like someone trying to be professional and failed miserably. "Tu crois qu'j'suis stuipide? " _Do you think I'm stupid?_

"Je ne comprends pas " _I don't understand..._

"Tu crois que tu pourrais me tromper? " _Do you think you can fool me? Me? Sherlock Holmes?_

"Monsieur, je ne comprends pas. Vous voulez la peinture, ici, c'est la peinture. " _Sir, I don't understand. You want the painting. Here is the painting. _Right. Real painting. And I'm Van Gough. Real painting, behind the safe. Just need a moment alone... How to get that? As if an answer to my prayer,

"FEU! FEU! FEU!" _Fire! Fire! Fire!_ Came from down the hall. Our Frenchman leaps to his feet. He shouts something in French, speaking too fast for me to understand. They leave me sitting in my chair as they race down the hall, running straight into a crowd of frenzied French people racing to the fire. I stand when I find myself alone, I have to work quickly if this is going to work. Flue first. I pull the flue shut, that will flood the room smoke. Then the window, unlatching the hooks so that it's open for my escape. Last of all the painting behind the desk. I take the painting down to reveal the safe. Working quickly I put my ear to the cool metal as I turn the dial, hearing the tumblers fall in place. The safe clicks open and the painting inside is revealed. At last. I carefully take it out and remove the paper. Perfect. Not one flaw. Lestrade will love to give this back to the family. Stupid git of a brother, selling it for drug money. Smoke has engulfed the room, entering my lungs every time I take a breath. I cough, covering my mouth with my hand. I head to the window, throwing it open, I step out onto the ledge and inch along the wall until I was positioned correctly. I leap from the wall, feeling my coattails fly out behind me. I land with a thud on the neighboring building. I snake down the fire escape, keeping the painting clutched tight to my chest. Safe and free I race down the street to the waiting car. I pull open the door and slide in. Lestrade is there to greet me,

"Did you get it." I hold the painting out in reply. "Any trouble?" The car starts to move. I purposely don't answer his question and Lestrade sighs. "I heard there was a fire. Was that you?"

"Closed a flue in one of the other rooms, causing the fire alarms to go off. Yes that was me."

"I take it you did have trouble then."

"Not anymore then usual."

"Right." Silence falls again. As usual.

* * *

_ARGH! Okay okay okay. I can't apologize enough. Honestly I can't. I feel like a horrible person because I'm giving you ANOTHER repeat, AND I didn't give you a story yesterday. To tell you the truth, there isn't a reason why I shouldn't have. I had time. Well okay, I didn't. I was watching 'To the End's of the Earth' yesterday and my brothers stole my laptop. It was ridiculous. Today I should have a new one up for you, and maybe even take this one down? How's that sound? _

_Until Gallifrey is free,_

_Time Lord Victorious  
_


	37. Leap of Faith

_Sherlock_

"I believe you." The ginger man let out a sigh of relief and leans back in the chair across from me.

"You do?"

"I do."

"Oh thank GOD! I thought you'd think I was crazy or think I'm guilty!" I smile,

"I know you aren't guilty Mr. Tolbert. I know that much. It needs some investigation, but I'm sure I can prove it." He lets out a sigh of relief and shakes my hand vigorously.

"The hearing is in two days and if you don't find anything by then, I'm going to be put away. I have faith in you Mr. Holmes, I think you can prove it. I know you can. Oh God! That's a relief. Thank you so much! I don't know how I'll ever be able to repay you. Thank you! Thank you!" He stands up to leave, wiping the back of his hand over his forehead, looking exceedingly happy. I can't let him go to prison. I know he's innocent. Simple, he didn't commit that crime, he didn't do it. No way he did it. Yet they think that they can arrest him for something he didn't do, for something his brother certainly did. I lean back and put my fingers together, steepling them under my chin, thinking. Steps on the stair. John's home from work. He's going to be exhausted. The door bangs open,

"JOHN?" I call behind me. He sighs,

"What Sherlock?"

"Nothing. I need to go out. Big case. Want to come?"John sighs again.

"No Sherlock. This time, you do it on your own. I had a bad enough time trying not to fall asleep at work today, I need some sleep. I've been running on no sleep for forty eight hours or more. Do you have any idea how exhausted I am?"

"Of course." Why is he being like this. This man can't get executed. I won't let him. John flops onto the couch, letting out a puff of air and stretching out a bit. "JOHN! Get up! Come on!" I pull my coat on and heave him to his feet. "We have to go!"

"NO! Sherlock! I need some sleep!"

"I'll play you the violin so you can sleep when we get back! Come on! Just this once! ONCE!" John looks me in the eyes,

"Why is this case so important Sherlock? Do you know the person?"

"No."

"Then why do you care if you don't solve it tonight? Why do you care?" Why do I care? He doesn't know? Should I-? No. I won't. Why do I care?

_Sherlock Age: 28_

"_I'm telling you Lestrade! I'm innocent!" The man sighs, running his hands through his hair,_

"_I'm sorry Sherlock! I can't believe that. You know way to much for you to be an innocent man. You were found with the body."_

"_What have I ever done to make you doubt me?" I ask exasperatedly. How can he do this to me? I feel so betrayed. As if I would ever do something like that. I might get excited for a new, weird murder, and I might get bored, but I would never take the life of another human being. The very thought-_

"_You know way to much Sherlock! There is no way that you could not be the murderer." I roll my eyes,_

"_YES THERE IS! If you would let me explain myself!"_

"_EXPLAIN WHAT SHERLOCK? You were found WITH THE BODY, seconds after it had died." I look away,_

"_BECAUSE I WAS THERE WHEN HE GOT MURDER- Oh forget it. It's not worth it. I'm not going to argue with you anymore. If you want the real murderer to go free, and to put an innocent man behind bars," I hold my wrists out for him. He's got to believe me. There is no way that he can be buying this, "be my guest. I'll come quietly." _

"_Sherlock." I roll my eyes again, thrusting my wrists into his face._

"_Arrest me. GO AHEAD!"He hesitates and I take the time to try and convince him that he knows I'm innocent, "You won't. You won't arrest me because you KNOW that I'm innocent. You know that I didn't kill him. You KNOW that I didn't. You don't want to put an innocent man away do you? DO YOU?"_

"_Sherlock- I want to believe you, I do. I just- I can't. Not this time. There's too much evidence. It's too wrapped up. I found you with that body. Will you deny that?"_

"_Absolutely not."_

"_You had the murder weapon in your hands! Will you deny that?"_

"_No. I was examining it. Not cleaning up after myself."_

"_Do you see what this looks like?"_

"_Oh God. Yes of course man."_

"_Do you see where that puts you?"_

"_Quite clearly thank you. I thought that maybe you would believe me. You of all people. I didn't expect this." He closes the handcuffs around my wrists. Shivering I shoot him a dirty look. He knows that I'm right. He knows. I'm innocent. I want to scream out who the killer is. No one will believe me. No one ever does. _

"_I'm sorry Sherlock." _

"_Of course you are."_

"_I really am." An idea. Good. He can do that. I'm sure of it!_

"_I want my phone call." _

"_Sherlock. I'm sorry."_

"_JUST GIVE ME MY DAMN PHONE CALL!"_

"_Fine. Hold on._

_Several minutes later_

_I rest my head against the wall, feeling all hope crushing down and hanging uselessly around my ankles. _

"_Are you sure Mycroft?"_

"_Sherlock, there's nothing I can do. You'll be condemned. I'm sorry."_

"_Do you believe that I didn't kill that man?"_

"_Of course I do."_

"_Good. Thank you."_

"_I'm sorry that I can't do anything."_

"_When they try me, will you vouch for me?"_

"_Absolutely, no question." _

"_Thank you Mycroft."_

"_Of course brother." Oh God. I'm going to go to prison for another man's crime. I'm going to prison, I'm going to prison and I'm going to die. Why me? I did nothing! Anger, fear. Two emotions that keep whirling around my head, one after the other, anger, fear, fear, fear, anger, anger, fear, anger. All mixing together. I can't go to prison. I did nothing wrong._

"Sherlock?" I start, John's still looking me in the eye. "Why do you care?"

"I know how he feels, and he's completely innocent. He committed no crime."

"What do you mean?"

"I know how he feels, and I need to fix it. I need to make him heard."

"Wait you mean-?"

"Yes John. I've been accused of something I didn't do."

"What happened?"

"I got arrested. Obviously."

"Well duh! I mean what happened though?"

"Lestrade managed to find the real murderer, as soon as the cops showed up, he surrendered and confessed. I was let go. Lestrade never doubts me any more, well hardly ever. He trusts me more then he did. He took a leap of faith and managed to do something spectacular. You know, if he listened to me more, he would have a better career..."

"Sherlock?"

"What John?"

"I'm ready."

"Thank God. I was getting tired of standing here waiting for you. Do you want to hear my theory?"

"Always."


	38. Of Letters and Cheating

_John_

It's been a long day. Maybe the letter that I want to come has finally found it's way into my mail box. I trudge up the stairs again, feeling slightly tired and a little annoyed that Sherlock had already gotten the mail and had sent me downstairs to check. Sometimes I wonder if that man has mental problems.

"Sherlock! Where's the mail?"

"On the mantle piece." Comes the reply from the kitchen. What's he up to? Doesn't matter. Mail first, worry about Sherlock later.

"On the mant- Sherlock!" Jack knifed to it more like. I grumble as I tug the knife out of the mantle piece and collect my mail, throwing myself into my usual armchair. "Bills, bills, bills. Junk." I flick through the envelopes. "Something for Sherlock. Where are you? Oh." I pull my letter from the stack and let the rest of the mail fall to the floor. Good. Finally.

"What'd you say was for me?"

"Oh, you got a letter."

"Where is it?"

"The floor. Excuse me Sherlock." I get up to go to my room, letter held high. I've been waiting for this for a long time. A letter from my sister. She won't email me, so she'll write letters every once in a while, she's traveling recently. Sometimes she can be ridiculous, but sometimes she can be a sweetheart, which is just the kind of think I need right now. Harry to lift my spirits.

"What's that then John?" Sherlock leans against the kitchen door frame, eying me curiously.

"Just a letter."

"Just a letter? Oh I doubt that. Came from America, at least that's what the stamps say. Who's it from? I didn't get a good look."

"None of your business Sherlock. It's a personal letter, addressed to me."

"And I make it a point to know what is going on with my flatmate." He bars the door as I try to leave and pushes me onto the couch instead. "Who's it from?" I glare at him, saying nothing. He had sat down next to me and tries to take the letter. I hold it high over my head, reaching as far as I can and leaning away from him so that I'm almost lying on my side. He wiggles his fingers, just inches away from my letter. No. Mine! I poke his side with my free hand. He makes a noise as he collapses into my lap. "Not fair."

"Are you ticklish?" The news dawns on me. I had never thought that Sherlock could be ticklish.

"NO!" He replies angrily before sitting up and trying to grab my letter again. Experimentally, I jab his side lightly again. He shrieks and collapses again. "Stop it." I start to laugh, and stuff my letter up my shirt.

"SHERLOCK HOLMES IS TICKLISH!"

"Stop it."

"NO! This is great! Going in the blog as soon as I finish down here! Hilarious! Tickle tickle!" I wiggle my fingers toward his sides playfully. He looks livid as he backs up and falls off the couch to avoid my fingers.

"Stop it!" Still laughing I bolt for the now empty door way, only to fall to the floor when Sherlock clutches my ankles.

"Cheater!"

"No. You cheated." He helps me to my feet, stony faced. Not playing anymore. Note to self, don't tickle him. Suddenly, without showing any sign of thinking to do so before, Sherlock shoves his hand up my shirt and grabs the letter pulling it out in one fluid motion, grinning triumphantly. His fingers had left a trail of coldness down my chest and I rub it, trying to warm everything back up again. I glare at him as he slits my letter open and pulls out a single sheet of paper. I glare.

"Now that's really cheating."

"All's fair my friend. All's fair." His eyes scan over the letter and he snickers when he reaches the end. "I think you're going to like it John. Indeed you will." He thrusts the letter in my direction, and it floats to the floor. I just stare at him as he goes for the kitchen again.

"Cheater." I mutter again as I gather the letter in my hands and stand up, sitting on the couch before I start to read.

_John,_

_You have no idea what I've seen this weekend. Take a guess. No, don't. I say the most McDonald's I have ever seen in my entire life. Everyone here just goes in, comes out, and then in a few hours, goes back in. I've been so bored for the past week, I've sat at a cafe across the street from the McDonald's that's a few blocks from where I'm staying. I've sat there and watched the same people walk by every couple of hours. It's ridiculous. I think you'd be amazed at how right some of the stereotypes are._

_Just thought you'd like to know that I'm doing really well. Can't wait to see you again, in a long time, and I hope you and Sherlock are doing okay. I think he does you good. Just saying. I'm going to Egypt next, I'll include some pictures. Just thought you should know. Love you lots. Not really._

_Harry._

I start to giggle again. Egypt? That made my day. She won't last one day in Egypt. Especially not Cairo. Silly girl. That's my sister for you. Sounds just like her.

"Told you that you'd like it." His voice drifts in from the kitchen.

"Thanks Sherlock."

"Yeah."

"You're still a cheater." I reply. I start to take my shoes off, setting them by the couch and propping my feet on the abused coffee table. Sherlock peeks in from around the corner.

"Me? A cheater? You must be out of your damn mind." I smile.

"You're a cheater."

"This is childish, and I will win."

"No you won't."

"I will." He races across the room and attacks my feet, wiggling his fingers over them. GOD THAT TICKLES. I curl up into a ball,

"STOP!" I kick my feet. The tickling doesn't stop. I can't make him stop. "STOOOP!"

"NO!" He then attacks my sides.

"Stooop!" I can't breathe I'm laughing so hard. This is ridiculous. "TRUCE! TRUCE!" He smiles. The tickling stops. I sit up slowly. My stomach hurts. I take a few big gulps of air, recovering enough to jab his sides. He topples over. It's going to be a long night. He squeals and rolls around as I tickle him. I stop and try to race up the stairs, but am immediately attacked on the sides and I'm down again. It's a tickle fight. And I am ill prepared.

* * *

_FYI: This started as something totally different. I can't decide if I'm happy with this or not. Also: Two chapters left. How does that make you feel? I know I'm sad. But whatever. Love you all loads. I'll make a chapter forty one like with 'This Should Be Interesting' so that means three chapters left but still... I'll leave with a bang again. Just like old times. It's going to be amazing. _

_Have a brilliant weekend._

_Hope you enjoyed this._

_Until Gallifrey is free,_

_Time Lord Victorious  
_


	39. Breaking Glass

_Sherlock_

"John, you just don't understand what I'm trying to do here."

"What? Blow up the flat?"

"NO!"  
"Explain why there is glass all over the floor and we're standing on the couch until Mrs. Hudson comes home to clean it up?" I ponder this for a moment. How to explain?

"Well I was just trying to-"

"Save it Sherlock. Save it for Mrs. Hudson. I'm going to be murdered! I'm missing the third date in a row because my shoes are by the door and the floor is covered with glass. What the _Hell_ were you thinking? Did you honestly think that was a good idea?"

"No..."

"Then why did you do it?"

"Because-"

"I don't even care Sherlock. I don't even care." John sits down on the couch drawing his legs up to his chest, shooting me nasty looks the entire time. He pulls out his phone and starts a text message.

"Look, I'm sorry alright?"

"Yeah."

"I called Mrs. Hudson, she said she'd be in by eleven."

"That's too late Sherlock!"

"Sorry." Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to accidentally on purpose blow up that beaker. Luckily John and I were already on the couch when it shattered and we only suffered a few cuts.

"No you aren't. You knew full well what was going to happen."

"That's only partly true John. It's called an experiment for a reason. I thought it _might _happen, not that it would."

"You are so selfish. Do you not care that I have a life?"

"John! That's cold."

"No Sherlock. It's not. You seem so eager to destroy my relationship with Sarah, how far am I off the mark?" Not very far, not far at all.

"Completely off. I don't want to sabotage your relationship, I just don't like you leaving me in the flat on Saturday nights, BY MYSELF."

"Then maybe you should get a girlfriend." He mumbles under his breath, knowing full well that I can hear him and that I will deny everything he says. He knows that I don't get on well with people.

"You know why I don't have a girlfriend. I don't have the time or the patience for that kind of thing. Just call Sarah and let me talk to her. She'll understand."

"What, so we're just going to sit here all night waiting for Mrs. Hudson to rescue us?"

"Either that or you brave the merciless glass covered floor. I would go, but my shoes are in my room. I've taken to walking around in socks. I don't know why..." Why have I been wearing socks lately? The world may never know.

"Sherlock." He groans, putting his head in his hands, "Why do I still live here?"

"Because-? Why do you stay here?" He looks at me,

"That was a rhetorical question Sherlock." Oh.

"I knew that."

"Sure you did."

"I did!"

"Yeah. Uh huh. And I'm a huge celestial body of gas."

"What?"

"Never mind Sherlock. Never mind."

"You're upset that I made a mess aren't you?"

"Well of course I'm upset."

"Sorry."

"Again with that word. I don't think you know when to use it!"

"What's that supposed to mean?" He shakes his head. Maybe he's over reacting a little bit. It wasn't on purpose, I didn't mean to blow that beaker up and he's blaming me for his "ruined" evening. I think it's just a bit more entertaining now.

"I know you aren't sorry."

"That's not exactly true. If I had known you were going to get this upset about it I wouldn't have planned it."

"So you _did_ plan it!" He's accusing me now. Great.

"Yeah, so what if I did?"

"You know if you want to do something, all you have to do is ask."

"Well there's nothing to do, so there's no point in asking is there?"

"That doesn't mean you can't ask me not to go out!" It's going to be a long night.

_Eleven Thirty at night._

The door to the flat eases open and a very cautious Mrs. Hudson enters the flat, glass crunching under her shoes.

"Sherlock?" She whispers. The lights are on, but there is a still sort of silence about the rooms. Creepy. Receiving no answer she calls out again, a little louder, "Sherlock?" The silence that follows is suddenly broken by a loud snore coming from the direction of the couch. Mrs. Hudson turns toward the sound. Sherlock is draped over John's lap, fast asleep, mouth open slightly against the arm of the couch. John looks up and puts a finger to his mouth, motioning for her to be quiet. She manuvers as quietly as she could to the couch,

"It took forever for him to wear himself out. He's only just fallen asleep. Thank God you've come. My shoes are by the door, I'd like to clean up this mess he made." Mrs. Hudson smiles and retrieves his shoes, placing them on the arm of the couch. "Thanks Mrs. Hudson. You're a star." Sherlock shifts in his lap a bit and John sighs. "You know what, this mess might have to wait till tomorrow to be cleaned up." She smiles and nods and retreats. John sighs and ruffles Sherlock's hair, "You git. You planned this whole thing didn't you?" Sherlock smiles and replies without opening his eyes,

"Of course I did. Now shut up and let me sleep."

* * *

_Hey guys. Change in plan. Forty chapters alone. I'm sorry. I've just got this brilliant idea and it will be brilliant and there will be another set of chapters. I haven't worked out a title yet, but you should go looking for it around Tuesday or Wednesday. It's going to be awesome, just so you know._

_Love you all. Have a great weekend._

_Until Gallifrey is free, And the last Chapter is up,_

_Time Lord Victorious  
_


	40. Holmecide Part 6: Truce

_Author's Note: Hey guys. I thought I'd get clever. A friend of mine said that I should do a part six, and a reviewer asked what was going on with some of the stuff at the end of part five. So. I thought: Why not? So I decided to combine the idea that I had for the last chapter and for 'Holmecide Part 6' and put it up as my last chapter. This chapter takes place right after 'Holmecide Part 5' for those of you who would be confused. I know I would be confused. _

_This is epic. It will be epic. Enjoy._

_NOTE: At the end, there will be a long list of thanks and shout outs. You can skip it if you want, you don't have to. Your name might be on it, so I suggest looking at it. Since some of you will be skipping the last little bit: DON'T FORGET TO REVIEW AND BE ON THE LOOK OUT FOR MY NEXT SET OF CHAPTERS. It will be entitled either, 'This Should Be Enthralling' OR, 'This Should Be Alluring' Take your pick and let me know._

_THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR MAKING THIS ONE OF THE BEST RUNS EVER!_

_Until Gallifrey is free,_

_Time Lord Victorious _

_Sherlock_

"JOHN! COME ON! TIME TO GET MOVING!" I shout up the stairs, mindlessly shoving my hands into my pockets.

"I'm coming Sherlock! Be patient!"

"NOT ONE OF MY TRAITS JOHN!" What's this? Something in my pocket? Paper... Must have been yesterday at Bart's. Cautiously I pull out the folded bit of card stock. Curious. Half of me wants to know what Jim says and the other half is thinking, 'put it down, don't look at it, let it go'. Against my better judgment I slowly unfold the bit of paper.

_Sherlock_

_Sorry. I am. But you know as well as I that you can't be allowed to continue. Sorry for what I'm about to do. I know you hate me for what happened to your eyes, but you'll never forgive me for this. I wish I could say that we can all be friends, but I know you Sherlock Holmes. You won't let it sit, so you've pushed me to drastic measures. It pains me to have to hire people for this job. I know you'll probably find them and kill them, but that's a risk I have to take. I'm sorry. Actually, you know what? I'm not. This is about you and me, you and I. No one else. _

_Ciao Sherlock Holmes._

What the Hell? It must be nothing. Whatever Jim did was yesterday. Not today. He gave me that yesterday. I can't help it, I can't stop them, the tendrils of fear that burrow into my heart. I swore I didn't have one, maybe that was Moriarty's goal, to prove I do.

"JOHN! GET YOUR ARSE DOWN HERE! WE'RE GOING TO BE LATE!" I shout, still staring at the note in my hands. Could it be what I think? Possibly. John's door squeaks open and he nearly falls down the stairs as he tries to pull his shoes on.

"You still haven't told me where we're going." He grins, looking up at me.

"I don't like going to concerts alone, I would be much obliged if you would come with me." His smile broadens,

"If they play anything like you, it would be my _pleasure._"

"Oh, they are loads better then me. You got your coat?" He looks down before shaking his head,

"Left it at the bottom of the stairs."

"Quickly now. Traffic is horrendous at this time of day." He frowns as he leads me down the stairs,

"Then why are we going?" He mumbles, more to himself then to anyone. I know that he didn't really intend for me to answer but I can't help it.

"I'm bored, and this concert only crops up every once in a while. It's a privilege. Plus, you look like you could use some air." He chuckles as he pulls his coat on.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"And this is just for leisure, we aren't going to end up smashing people's heads in with cellos will we?"

"Purely leisure. All the same, it wouldn't hurt to bring your gun." His smile fades. I knew this would happen, "To be safe John. I don't want you going out by yourself. Not after-"

"You sound like my mother."

"I'm worse than anyone's mother." The smile returns and he takes the stairs to at a time to get his gun. I shake my head. This is why I don't associate with people. They tend to get hurt. "AND IF YOU DON'T HURRY UP, WE COULD BE LATE!"

"Whatever Sherlock!" He comes down the stairs again, stuffing his gun in his coat. There. Oh my God.

"JOHN!" The red dot on his chest doesn't move, doesn't waver. He looks down at me, a confused expression crossing his features. It happens in a split second. There's a crack, the shatter of glass, a splash of blood, and John crumples to the floor. OH SHIT! "JOHN!" I race up the stairs, rolling John over into my lap, "John?" He blinks at me tiredly, and touches his chest, blood coming away on his hand.

"He missed. Stupid."

"What?" John swallows,

"Mycroft was right. Welcome back." He blinks hard swallowing again. "Something for you in my desk. If I don't- Just- There's something there for you."

"Don't be ridiculous." John rolls his eyes and offers a sort of half laugh.

"You're crying. That means something." I'm crying? So I am. Salty tears roll down my cheeks and land on his face. "HEY! Stop it." He mumbles as my tears dot his face and jumper. "That's my job."

"Sorry." He smiles a little bit and closes his eyes. A change comes over him like I had never before seen. He starts screaming out, calling the names of people I had never heard of. Afghanistan. Anger boils inside of me, mixed with fear and doubt. Without really thinking, I pull his gun free and dash into the street. Quickly calculating where the shot came from, I pull my phone out and call Mycroft. He'll know what to do. "John. Shot. Will be back. Take care of him." I hang up and race across the street, nearly getting myself killed by a car that wasn't paying attention. THERE! A shadow, moving quickly out of the way. No other thought goes through my mind, that bastard. That heartless bastard. The man runs around a corner, stopping when he hits a dead end.

"Please don't." he begs me, tossing the sniper to the side, "It was only my job."

"John was only my best friend. Where's Moriarty?" I point the gun at his head, cocking. Luckily John keeps it loaded.

"I don't know. I received my orders on a pager." He pulls it out and tosses it across the distance. "Please, if I had a choice, I wouldn't have shot him."

"If I had a choice, this wouldn't have happened." I say grimly. He nods,

"I understand. I understand." He spreads his arms wide, closing his eyes. "Make it quick." His words trigger a memory. Suddenly the positions were switched. I am the one with my arms wide, begging the man with a gun to make it quick. And he hadn't. He'd shot me and left me there, knowing I would bleed to death before help had come. That was my fault too. I blink and stare at the man across the ally. His eyes are still closed. He's scared. He doesn't want to die. He shouldn't have shot my friend. He should have thought about it. I play with the trigger, putting pressure, releasing pressure. Shoot him? Don't shoot him.

"SHERLOCK! WHAT THE HELL?" I point at his knee caps and blow them to smithereens before turning to see my brother, staring at me, blood on his hands. "What were you thinking?" I shake my head and wipe at my face again.

"John. How's John?" The man I shot is groaning in the corner. "Take care of him. How's John?" Mycroft hangs his head. I'm defeated, a broken man. "Don't give me that shit and just tell me. Please."

"They say he's going to make it. He'll need a blood transfusion." I push past him, toward the ambulance parked outside of my flat. "What were you thinking? If you had killed him that would make you no better then Moriarty."

"Don't you even mention his name. That bastard..."

"Sherlock-"

"Don't Mycroft. Just don't." He nods and takes the gun from my limp hand, motioning for the ambulance to hold for me. I clamber in the back and look down at my friend. His eyes are barely open and he's mumbling things that I can't understand. "I'm sorry John. It's all my fault. I'm sorry."

"'Sokay." He's smiling again, the words were barely audible, but they were meant for me. I smile down at him. He can always make me smile. Even when he's dying.

"You'll be alright." He nods and slowly his eyes close and he stops moving. For one moment my heart nearly stops, one moment until his chest rises showing the intake of breath. Thank God he's going to be okay.

_Several hours and a surgery later..._

John's sleeping now. And I suppose I should be too. I gave him some of my blood. Now we're brothers. Better brothers then Mycroft and I could ever be. I look at him from my chair, he looks so peaceful. So... tranquil. Thank God. I can't help but remember that dream I had. The one where Moriarty killed John in front of my face. John was there for me then, and I'll be here for him now. I check his vitals. I might have time. One short little trip. I have a message to send. I tear a piece of paper out of my notebook and hurriedly scrawl a message on it to John, just in case he wakes up and I'm still gone. I hail a cab, and make my way down the familiar halls of Bart's morgue. Molly should be working. She sees me as I enter the room, a note in my hand a note for her to deliver.

"Sherlock? Are you okay?" She asks. I glare at her and she backs up a little.

"I'm sorry Molly. I've been put through Hell. Again. Would you mind giving this to Jim the next time you see him?" I shove the bit of paper into her hands and storm out of there. I have to be there for my doctor.

_Molly_

Something bad's happened. I haven't seen Sherlock that angry in a long time. That was when his brother broke his violin. This is worse than that. Worse then anything I think could ever happen to him. I look down at the paper in my hands, the one he forced on me. Maybe I shouldn't- Yeah, what the Hell. I carefully unfold the bit of paper and read,

_TRUCE_

_

* * *

_

Hey guys. As promised, big finish, as well as a long after the story thanks page. There are so many people that I would like to thank. I think it will take forever to name everyone, so I'll try to narrow it down. It's going to be hard, but I think I'll manage.

First and far most, thanks to "Sherlock", Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss, Benedict Cumberbatch, Martin Freeman, and the whole cast and crew of "Sherlock". With out them, none of this would be possible. This has been, by far one of the most productive things I have ever done.

Secondly, and it actually ties with first. You readers. You lovely lovely people who stick with me and who have read, and reviewed and put up with my stuff for this whole journey. You are all brilliant people, and I can't wait to take you on another journey with the next leg of the journey. It's going to be as awesome, or nearly as awesome, or more awesome, then this section here. Thanks to all the people who stuck with me since 'This Should Be Interesting' and will continue to stick with me to the end. You are all... Just beautiful people.

SHOUT OUTS! Now here, I'm just going to name names unless they haven't actually reviews on it and I want to name them anyway.

M.G. Montecello, cookieascrazy, The Improbable One, Mam'zelleCombeferre, Gen, flamedrAcon, IAmAVenusGirl, Maugreyfiliae, and many many more.

I'd like to thank VenganceAuthor who gave me the idea for this last little bit. I'd like to thank Arlothia for sticking with me and talking to me when I've been blank. I'd like to thank my Australian friend Pertia-BrightEyes, even though she hasn't read my stuff, she's been brilliant and so has everyone here. Thank you all loads and loads.

Don't forget to review and to tell me which title for the new one you like best. I'd also like to know what you think about this one. Thank you all again. Have a great week, enjoy your lives and be on the look out for the next forty chapters!

Until Gallifrey is free,

Time Lord Victorious


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